Pirate Dreams 12

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.

They sent a message on to Swann and Norrington that they were ready to report on their mission. Word came back that both men had traveled overland to Port Morant on official business, due to return in three days' time.

The innkeeper assured them all was well. "Commodore Norrington left instructions here, to put you and your crew on account."

They had, in fact, left Woodes' treasure chest on the Devil's Isle, for fear it would bring a curse along with it. They'd already dealt with one chest of cursed gold; they certainly didn't need another one. "Better left where it is," Will replied.

"A little," Jack admitted. "If I give it all out to the crew, though, they'll drink themselves senseless by the time Swann and Norrington return."

"They do," Will agreed. "First, for putting up with Reverend Johnson, and second, for putting up with Nicholas Crane, and third, for putting up with the Devil's Isle."

So they set the crew up with rooms at the inn, and paid out all the coin they had aboard, keeping enough for themselves to have a few drinks with. They had arrived at Port Royal near supper time. Will and Jack ate at the inn, then repaired to their favorite alehouse along the waterfront, a shabby, disreputable, but comfortable place called the Broken Arms.

They settled round a small table in a far back corner, tucked away from the main crowd, tankards of ale in hand. Will had not been used to drinking much before joining up with Jack. Now he enjoyed the relaxed, convivial nature of sharing a pint or two in good company.

He especially craved some relaxation with Jack. The tensions of the past few days wore him down, and the anxiety surrounding Flynn's possible reappearance left him knotted up inside. He could tell during their return sail to Port Royal that Jack's mind was hardly at ease. He had slept fitfully, eaten very little, and had barely spoken at all. Will needed to regain that easy-going friendship they shared.

Jack sank easily into his chair, slouching a bit, leaning back from the table with his leg crossed over his knee. He took several large gulps from his tankard, then cradled it against his chest. "Ah. This can heal all ills."

"Are you ailing, then?" Will leaned forward to study Jack's forehead. The wound there looked nearly healed.

"Hm?" Jack frowned, then brightened. "Oh, that." He rubbed at the spot. "No, it's fine."

"I'm glad to hear it. You get banged on the head a lot, you know." Will grinned. "We wouldn't want it to go all mushy inside there, would we?"

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "you whacked me on the head once. So if it is too late, it's probably all your fault."

Will could distinctly see the twinkle in Jack's eyes. "Yeah, it wouldn't have anything to do with your spending too much time sailing under the heat of the tropical sun, nor with drinking too much rum."

"No such thing as too much rum." Jack raised his tankard to down a goodly portion of ale. "Or too much ale."

Will drank, letting the liquid warm him. He felt so much better already, teasing Jack like this, helping to take his worries away. "The crew look happy."

A goodly number of the Black Pearl's crew members were in the tavern, drinking, playing cards, enjoying themselves.

"I suppose we could call it a successful first mission. I mean, we didn't find any spying, so that's good, right? Plus, we helped apprehend a murderer."

Will met him halfway across the table, clinking their tankards together. "To spying." They both drank deeply.

"Pirates do that," Jack replied. "Pirate loses an arm or a leg in battle, he gets paid extra."

"I had no idea." Will knew quite a bit about pirates, from when Elizabeth insisted on reading aloud to him, though most of that was legend or fiction. He doubted he'd gleaned much in the way of truth from those tales. "Tell me, is there really such a thing as the pirates' code?"

"Not so much any single code, more like a set of agreements that most pirate captains draw up for their crews. Each man to have an equal vote in the affairs of the ship, like. Equal shares in the food and liquor, though the goods from captured prizes are distributed according to rank. No gaming for money allowed. No women allowed. No stealing from the company, no fighting amongst 'em. Each man to keep his weapons clean and ready for action. Breaking of the rules to be punishable by marooning."

"An equal vote?" Will found that strange. "The Captain didn't have command over the crew?"

"By treating the crew fairly," Jack replied. "Something the Royal Navy ought to try sometime."

"I'll get them." Jack rose, emptying his tankard as he stood. Then he swayed off to the counter.

"Equal vote," Will muttered disbelievingly. What a peculiar concept by which to run a ship. You'd think the success of the pirates' ventures would depend on a solid chain of command, of maintaining order under chaotic conditions. Mutinies must be quite common aboard those ships.

Jack returned shortly, bearing two full tankards. He handed one to Will, then sprawled onto his chair. "Cheers." He drank.

Will still felt puzzled by this whole voting business. "So you were voted captain of the Black Pearl?"

"And if the crew became dissatisfied with your way of doing things, they'd vote someone else captain?"

Jack paused in his diligent efforts to drain his tankard. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, way back when you had a mind to go after the Aztec treasure, you took on a new crew in Tortuga, yes? Barbossa and his ilk? But they didn't care for your way of doing things, by all I've heard told."

"I know that. Calm down." Will took a few gulps, then carried on with his questions. "What I don't understand is, if they didn't like your way of captaining, why didn't they simply vote you down after Barbossa tricked the bearings from you, and appoint him captain instead?"

"Because he did trick the bearings from me. Cheating's against the code. He should have had his ears and nose slit for betraying that confidence."

Will remembered reading of that particularly unpleasant punishment. "So he broke the code."

"He never did treat the pirate articles with much respect," Jack said. "'They're not rules'," he used to say. 'They're more like guidelines.'" He suddenly smiled. "Got the bastard in the end, though, didn't I?"

Will shrugged. "Whatever." Thanks to the ale, his mind was entering that slightly foggy, euphoric place where nothing much mattered anymore. "To the code!" He tipped back his tankard.

They continued drinking quite happily for some time, going through considerably more ale than needed. Hours later, not knowing precisely how he'd arrived there, Will found himself standing in the center of their room at the inn, staring blankly at his own jerkin. He looked around, saw Jack lying sideways across the bed, arms out, fully clothed, gazing at the ceiling.

"This." Will pointed at the jerkin, whose buttons seemed to be operating under physical laws of which he no longer had any understanding.

"How do they work?" Jack's voice was rough-edged and hoarse. "The same way they did when you buttoned 'em this morning. Only in reverse."

"Oh." Will took this under consideration, then tackled the jerkin with more success. "Ta."

"You might give it a try." Will stared for a moment at his shirt, then simply yanked it off over his head.

Will stumbled over to the bed to sit down on the edge. He yanked off his boots, flinging them randomly across the room. As he started in on his drawers, something landed on his head. He plucked it off. Jack's shirt. He tossed it aside, resumed undressing. The rest of Jack's clothes landed around him, piece by piece. Will had just got his last item of clothing off when something heavy thumped into his back. He turned round to find a boot. "You hit me with this." He held it up accusingly.

"Sorry again, mate." Jack lay utterly naked on the bed, feet dangling over the edge.

"You're going the wrong way." Will crawled onto the bed and got his arms under Jack's shoulders. He heaved him round, with little assistance, 'til he was lengthwise instead of crosswise, head on the pillow. "That's better."

"Well, it's the preferred way of sleeping, if you ask me." Will stretched out alongside him. "Oh, and it's more usual to be underneath the coverings."

"Bloody hell, you're demanding." But Jack managed to give him some help this time as they shifted about, getting under the bedsheet.

Will put out the lamp, plunging the room into utter darkness. He wondered idly why his head didn't feel terribly connected to his body, but let that go. Three sheets to the wind, and all's well.

Jack suddenly rolled over atop him, nearly smothering him. "Bugger me," he murmured.

Jack rolled off him, onto his side. Will did his best, but had difficulty getting his body to cooperate. After his third attempt to get something interesting going, he gave up. "Damn."

Will felt him shifting about, then Jack wrapped an arm around him, and gave him a long, deep kiss before settling his head on Will's shoulder. "Never mind, then. It'll keep."

"Glad to hear it." Will embraced him. "Tell me, did you ever get this drunk with... well, with that fellow whose name I'm not supposed to say?" At least part of his brain functioned well enough to remember Jack's one-time admonition against his speaking Nate Flynn's name to him.

"Oh, go on and say it." Jack's warm breath blew across Will's chest as he spoke. "I know you mean Nate."

"You know," Jack said slowly, as if every word took immense energy, "he didn't like to drink."

"Nate didn't drink," Jack repeated. "Amazing that we got on. Improbable, in fact."

"I should think so." Will's mind got foggier by the moment. "So of course, I did all the drinking for both of us."

"Good idea." Will held onto Jack firmly as the room rocked gently round him, rather like their cabin aboard the Pearl did. He found the motion quite comforting. "Good night," he whispered.

"The best," Jack whispered back, and he didn't speak another word until morning.

The interior of the Church of St. Matthew stood empty, its high-ceilinged, solid stone walls enclosing a shadowed nave lined with wooden pews.

Will stood on the wide, thick flagstones at the entryway. He turned, gesturing at Jack behind him. "Come in, will you? I promise you won't burst into flames when you cross the threshold."

"Well, it's not an English cathedral, no." Will had only ever been in one cathedral in England, St. Paul's, which his mother had taken him to once. Nothing could compare to its glories, especially out here. Yet this church, which Mrs. Brown brought him to every Sunday during his youth in Port Royal, while fairly plain in style, still had a few worthy adornments. The altarpiece came from London, an intricately carved wooden depiction of the crucifixion, the stone pillars on either side of the nave had corinthian flourishes, and there were three side chapels containing several paintings and statuary. "I always liked it."

"Bit empty, too." Jack didn't come in any further, just stood there, absently rolling his sash between his fingers.

It was a Tuesday, nearing eleven, long past the morning service. But then, they'd not exactly got an early start that day. They both slept late, and while Jack recovered easily from his indulgences, Will took a little longer to do so. One of the inn's servants kindly set him up with a hot bath, which helped immensely, and eventually he felt able to take a small breakfast. Later he had dragged a fairly reluctant Jack to the church, though he didn't expect him to do anything there other than keep him company. This was strictly something he wanted to do.

"I prefer it empty," he said. "And quiet." He could tell by Jack's unusual fidgeting that he wasn't comfortable there. "Look, I won't be long. You can stay here."

Will walked up the aisle to the altar, then slid onto the hard wooden seat of the front pew. He studied the crucifixion scene, and behind it, the one piece of stained-glass the church had been able to afford, a small yet lovely rose window. Then he lowered his head, clasping his hands in his lap. He spoke aloud his thanks for deliverance from evil, and for having his prayer on the Devil's Isle answered.

A simple enough gesture, but heartfelt. He sat there a few moments longer. He could hardly be called a regular church-goer, though his mother had been devout. His faith had been tested when she died, and again when he'd learned of the torturous death his father had undergone. For he was raised to believe good men were rewarded, and bad deeds punished. He'd learned that this didn't always hold true in this world, that some men would receive their due solely in the next. Still, from time to time, he found need of a benevolent God, a need to appeal to His mercy, and a need to offer gratitude for mercies given.

Will rose to leave, turned down the aisle, and didn't see Jack anywhere. Great. Had he bolted? For heaven's sake, he shouldn't be that agitated about setting foot inside a church. After all, Jack's own father had been a minister. Just because he'd broken a few commandments... well, a lot of them... didn't mean he couldn't spend a few minutes in the House of the Lord. Will sighed. If Jack were that worried about spending eternity in hell, perhaps he ought to consider having a decent bout of repentance at some point.

Then Will heard a slight shuffling sound off to his right. Curious, he headed over to the pillars which divided the nave from the side chapels. He walked down the side aisle, peeking inside the first one. Empty. He went along to the next, and there, sitting on a simple stone bench, was Jack.

Will knew this small chamber well, as he used to sneak off into it as a lad, whenever he got bored with the service. He liked the painting set there for contemplation, a triptych showing scenes from the life of the apostle Luke. The left hand panel showed him healing the sick, in the right hand one he painted a portrait of Mary, and in the center he stood imprisoned with Paul.

Jack nodded at the triptych. "Patron saint of surgeons and painters." He smiled. "Well, if you're Catholic, that is." Then he pointed at the right hand panel. "I like that one."

"Pity. Suppose I'll have to leave it alone." Jack showed no sign of being ready to go. He just kept staring at the right hand panel, at Luke holding the paintbrush above the canvas, eternally ready to apply the next stroke. "You know what my father aimed for me to become?"

"Not a painter?" Outside of Jack's way with attire, Will had seen little evidence of any artistic skills in him.

"Really?" Will looked at the painting again. In the room Luke sat in, a globe stood in one corner which must have reminded Jack of this long-abandoned ambition. "Like Sydney Davis? A cartographer?"

"I suppose that's what he had in mind. When I was in my mother's grammar school, geography was always my favorite subject. We had a good number of books in the house as well, and any that had maps, I'd take and copy them out. I liked to leave the names off, and make up my own. Sort of an invention of new worlds, that I'd make people for, and strange creatures, whatever came into my head."

"That sounds like a great deal of fun," Will said. He'd heard so little about Jack's childhood that this brief memory came as a wonderful revelation.

"Well, I was only ten when they died. And there I was in Plymouth, with all those merchant ships beckoning. If I'd been older, maybe I would have done something less romantic."

"Become a cartographer, for example?" Will asked. Somehow he couldn't quite see that. "Doesn't seem to suit your nature, to draw other people's explorations and adventures, rather than have your own."

Jack took his gaze away from the painting to look at Will. "Would have been a very different life."

We wouldn't have met, for one thing. "Ten years old. It's awfully young to be off on your own."

"I was twelve," Will admitted. "Signed on that ship as a cabin boy. It wasn't so bad."

Will nodded. That had terrified him beyond measure. "There I was, living in a port town full of ships, on an island in a sea of islands, and I was afraid of going on board another ship because of what happened. That's why I never tried returning to England, and it's why I didn't keep searching for my father." This was the first time he could recall telling anyone of his fears, other than Elizabeth. "I was afraid."

"I had conquered my fears by then. It took years, but when I was sixteen, Elizabeth invited me along on a trip she and her father were taking to the Bahamas. She was fourteen, and didn't think anything at all about the impropriety, and invited me without asking her father. He would have forbade it, but she was rather headstrong even then, and her way prevailed. She desperately wanted me to come, so after some struggling, I found my nerve and accepted. Swann made me stay in the crew's quarters, but it was a fine trip. After nothing happened, and I returned safely to Port Royal, I realized how foolish my fears had been. I managed to spend some time on other ships when the chance came, not much, but enough to be comfortable with them again."

"Man," Will corrected. "I'm not a lad." He didn't care to be reminded of their difference in ages, though he did like Jack calling him brave.

"Ta." Will looked at him fondly. "You're rather on the courageous side yourself, you know."

"No more of that!" Will rose. "I think this place is affecting your brain. Can we go now?"

"I was done ages ago. I've been waiting for you to be done with your admiration of Luke here."

"Then come on, Will said cheerfully, "let's go give Norrington something to pay for."

Two days later Swann and Norrington returned to Port Royal, and shortly after midday, Swann sent for Jack and Will.

They met him in the drawing room at the mansion, where he warmly congratulated them on their safe return. "I was pleased to hear that the Johnson expedition had no interest in the naval strength of our islands. Well done."

"The Commodore has duties to attend to at the fort. He sends his congratulations and his regards."

"That's generous of him," Jack said. Will smiled, knowing he wanted to be paid as well as thanked.

Swann picked up on Jack's tone. "I'm quite certain Commodore Norrington will see promptly to your wages."

"I'm sure he shall." Swann crossed to a sideboard. "Do have a seat." He unstoppered a decanter as Jack and Will sat on the room's large divan. "Now then, would you care for some brandy? We received only the briefest news of your activities, and I should be pleased to hear about it in greater detail."

He didn't wait for an affirmative, but poured out three glasses, handing two over and taking his own to a wingback chair. For the next hour, Will and Jack related the tale of the ill-fated expedition, their earlier uneventful stops, the journey to Bermuda, the murder of Harris, and most of the crucial occurrences on the Devil's Isle. Jack let Will tell most of the story, clearly allowing him to say only what he wanted to about the hauntings. Will chose to give Swann the barest account of the island's ghostly emanations.

"Fascinating," he said when Will finished. "I'm not the sort of man who countenances phantasms, or at least, I wasn't until the incidents that happened with that cursed pirate crew. If I hadn't seen those fellows turn to skeletons with my own eyes, I should have put such things down to a fevered state of mind. Yet now I've come to realize that there are, as the bard penned, 'more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.'" He shook his head. "Quite remarkable."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

The Governor gaped at him, as did Will. Having a decent vocabulary and a knowledge of geography were understandable, but quoting Shakespeare?

"Captain Sparrow, you never cease to astonish me. Of course, I tend to forget that your mother was a schoolmistress. Did you attend the theater?"

"Not your sort of theater," Jack confessed. "But yes, my mother had a fondness for Hamlet. She used to make me read different roles aloud around the evening fire."

"We did that as well," Swann replied. "All of the bard's works, Dryden, Congreve. Elizabeth's dear mother was adept at reading comedy. Quite a pleasant way to spend an evening."

Will felt a brief pang of sadness, that he'd not had this sort of experience. His mother had to work to support him, leaving him in the care of his grandmother a good deal of the time. And his grandmother took in many of the neighborhood children to support her own meager income. Her cramped, crowded, poorly furnished London home held little to inspire. The only book there was the Bible. He fled its confines as often as possible to roam the streets. He was only seven when he learned he could earn small coins now and then by doing odd jobs, running messages, cleaning gentlemen's boots, and when he grew older, cleaning up after the horses of their carriages. So he spent long hours every day diligently working rather than learning, trying to ease life for his mother. Not until he came to Port Royal was he given a chance to improve himself, both in learning a useful trade and otherwise. Mrs. Brown had a good heart and a good head as well, and took it upon herself to give him at least a rudimentary education. But there was no reading parts from plays round a cozy fireplace. He never set foot inside a theater of any kind. Jack's childhood, though cut short by his parents' untimely deaths, sounded far more ideal than his own.

That had changed, of course, when Jack ran off to sea. There, aboard the merchant ships, he'd found a far rougher life than he'd been used to. But he'd obviously adapted to that life with great ease. Still, he'd not forgotten those early years, or the solid education he'd received. He'd added to it, in fact, through his worldly travels, soaking up knowledge wherever he roved.

"More things in heaven and earth," Swann repeated. "Indeed. Elizabeth's favorite play, however, was The Tempest. 'O brave new world, that has such people in it.' She did so love to speak that line when reading Miranda. The role suited her, and the play spoke well to her rather vivid imaginings." He let out a short sigh, then shook himself, seeming to return from the past to the present situation. "My apologies, I didn't intend a diversion from your own tale of wonder, from your own entrapment on a magical island."

"If they truly are the lost souls of people who have died there, then they are trapped in a kind of earthly hell, are they not? God has apparently forsaken them, and mere men cannot save a soul lost to God."

"Perhaps new maps could be made," Will suggested. "Crane still had the map when we were rescued. The isle could be shown clearly, with a warning that going there risks death, and worse."

"Possibly," Swann said. "It could be taken under consideration. Though in my experience, warnings against doing something often have the opposite effect, encouraging misbehavior among certain types of people."

"Well, it might help some people," Will said. He sipped a little of his brandy, then set the glass on a side table.

They were on the point of concluding their conversation when a knock on the door drew Swann's attention. "Come in."

A footman opened the door just enough to poke his head inside. "Sir, a ship has anchored in the harbor. Her master requests a word with you. He is here now."

The footman opened the door wider. Into the room, much to Will's astonishment, strode the living image of the man Edward Eaton had so recently described to them. Captain Nate Flynn.

Flynn saw him, eyes going wide. "By the powers!" He crossed the space between them in a flash. "Jack!" He grabbed him in a close embrace which Jack warmly returned.

Will felt his heart sink at the glow of Jack's expression, at the light in his eyes. Jack held Flynn tightly, looking him up and down. "It truly is you."

Flynn turned to Swann. "Governor Swann, I assume?" He strode to him, hand extended. "Captain Nathaniel Flynn of the sloop Destiny."

"I am, sir, and begging your most gracious pardon, would be greatly pleased to speak with him alone."

Will stayed seated on the divan, having no strong desire to be introduced to the man. He was extremely handsome, in that rugged way Eaton had described, his reddish-brown hair pulled back with a green ribbon. He wore a flamboyant silk waistcoat of emerald green that matched his eyes, a white shirt beneath with lace cravat and lace sleeves poking out from his black brocade coat, and black damask breeches disappearing into his boots. Under one arm he carried a tricorn graced with a large black feather.

"You may do as you wish," Swann replied, "after you have explained your presence in my harbor."

"Of course. The Destiny is a private vessel out of Queenstown, formerly a privateer during the recent Spanish engagement. For the past several months, however, we have been in pursuit of a pirate, one William Rosser, captaining a frigate called the Ranger."

Flynn stepped close to Jack, whispering loud enough for Will to overhear, "I'll explain everything when we're alone." Then he turned back to Swann. "It's rather a long story, sir. Suffice to say I have a personal interest in capturing Captain Rosser and his crew. He was last spied departing Barbados, with a rumor he may be heading to Puerto Rico. I can reach there ahead of him, but my ship is desperately in need of cleaning, or we'll never catch anyone. May I be allowed to do so here? Is there a good spot along the Jamaican coastline for careening?"

Swann looked to Jack, who nodded. "Captain Sparrow will direct you." He gave Flynn a very stern look. "You had better be aboveboard in your activities in these waters. We have a very strong defense here, and should you prove other than what you say you are, Commodore Norrington's marines will soon sort you out."

"I take your point." Flynn favored Swann with a slight bow. "You need not concern yourself."

"Then I shall take my leave. Do feel free to help yourself to my brandy stock, Captain Flynn. I bid you good day." He strode from the room, shutting the door behind him.

For the first time, it seemed, Nate Flynn took notice of Will sitting on the divan. "Ah. I see we still have some company."

Will stood, a little taken aback. Jack not called him that before, and he hardly felt he adequately fulfilled the role. He simply hadn't spent enough time yet aboard the Pearl, hadn't learned enough seamanship to support such a title. He found it flattering, nonetheless, and decided to proffer his hand.

Flynn took it in a warm grasp. "Delighted. I didn't know Jack had his own ship now."

"A schooner," Will replied, releasing the grip. "The Black Pearl. It's in the harbor."

"She's yours?" Flynn asked Jack. "I admired her when we anchored. A beautiful ship."

Jack merely stared at him, as if he still couldn't quite believe Flynn were truly real.

Flynn smiled and clasped Jack by the shoulders. "I see we have a great deal of catching up to do." He glanced at Will. "Would you mind?"

Will minded very much. He knew Jack needed to speak alone with Nate Flynn, needed to find out what had happened, what, four years ago or thereabouts was it now? Must have been, if Jack spent three years in prison after Flynn's supposed death, then made his way after his escape here to the West Indies in search of the Pearl, which would have taken a few months, and then add on the time since then. Yes, it would be about four years since Jack and Nate last saw each other. Jack must have a good many questions, not the least being why Flynn was even alive.

Yet at the same time Will knew they needed to be alone, an intense jealousy had risen within him at the moment the two men embraced, erasing any noble sentiments. That look in Jack's eyes, the love in his eyes at seeing Flynn, sparked a dark feeling in Will's heart, of wanting to keep Jack to himself, of somehow sending this interloper back to the past where he belonged. And he'd always had trouble controlling his emotions. So he waved idly at the brandy glass he'd set down. "I haven't finished my drink."

Jack stared blankly at him, then rubbed a hand over his eyes. Without a word, he grasped Will by the upper arm and dragged him towards the door, turning to face him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Will, I need to talk with him alone."

"Why? For God's sake, Will. You know why." Then Jack met Will's eyes, looked deep within. He sighed. "You're jealous," he said baldly.

Will cast one narrowed glance towards Nate Flynn, then turned to walk out. The door shut, and he stood alone in the hallway. How could he just go off, not knowing what they were saying? He hated not being able to see the men renew their long-lost relationship, not being able to hear what Flynn said to explain himself, nor how Jack would respond. His heart ruled his head at this moment.

And then he remembered, knowing Swann's house so well from his youth, that an inner door in the drawing room connected to the library.

Will walked down the corridor to the library's outer door and peered inside. Empty. He went in, closed the door, and crossed to the inner connecting door. Then he stopped, staring at its inviting keyhole, a tiny window onto the drawing room. He rubbed sweaty palms against his breeches. I can't do this. I should trust Jack more.

He could hear their voices, though not actual words. Will took a step closer to the door. I don't want to ever hurt you. Jack's words came to him. Will had gallantly claimed he wanted Jack to have what he deserved, to have the love he needed most. To have a chance to love Nate Flynn. He so wanted to do what was right, what was viewed to be noble, as always. Yet he knew now that his heroic ideals sometimes worked better in theory than in practice.

How could Jack ask him to trust, when he hadn't known himself how he'd feel on meeting Flynn again? And how much of a chance could Will stand against the man? Curiosity mixed with jealousy stole over him completely, driving out all his high-minded notions of self-sacrifice.

Will crossed the last few paces to the connecting door, knelt down by the keyhole, and looked through. He could hear clearly, every word, though at the moment all he could see was Flynn's back. He must have been standing very close to the door.

"The reports of my premature demise were fabricated on purpose," Flynn said. "I needed to have the word put out that I was dead so that I could move about again safely, with a new name, at least for a few years."

"I'm having a little trouble here," Jack replied. "How could you do that from behind bars?"

"Easily enough. I escaped the noose because the man in charge of the East India Company's outpost where we were taken after capture was my uncle."

This astonishing statement was met by a long silence. Will wished he could see Jack's face. At length he heard Jack say rather coldly, "How convenient for you."

"Come on, Jack, there's more to it than that." Flynn moved away from the door, and Will suddenly had a better view. He could only see into the room at about waist level, but when Flynn moved, he caught sight of Jack's tell-tale sash. He was standing in the center of the room, and Flynn had just moved closer to him. "You don't imagine that I didn't speak up for you as well, do you?"

"You should wait until you've heard me out. My uncle wouldn't break or bend the laws for a pirate crew, nor for a pirate captain. And he didn't." Flynn paused, then took another step closer to Jack, blocking Will's view of him again. "What you don't know, what you didn't know then, was that I've never been a pirate. The three years we sailed those seas, I was spying for the English East India Company and my uncle all along."

Will stifled a gasp. He heard Jack cry, "You what?" He saw Flynn's arms come up, he looked to be grasping Jack's shoulders.

There was a confused movement which Will tried to follow through his small viewing hole. Then Jack came partially into view, having obviously broken Flynn's hold. "I don't believe that!" he said angrily. "We preyed on ships, we robbed cargos, we held people for ransom."

"All very convincing, yes. But did you not find it curious that we never captured an English ship? That when we came upon one, I always had a reason for not going after it? Was it not peculiar that a professed pirate never harmed anyone aboard captured ships, and only took what he needed? I was commissioned to play the role of a pirate, to capture as many non-English ships as I could, with a specific interest in those of the Dutch East India Company or any of their convoy's warships. My instructions were to study the strength of their crews, to test their loyalty by offering them places aboard my own, to note their guns and look for any advances or improvements in weapons, and to confiscate any that were better than our own. And to send reports on to my superiors whenever we reached a neutral port. You see, we never did like losing so much of the spice trade territories to the Dutch, and had a thought to regain some."

He can't possibly be telling the truth. The English East India Company employed its own spies? Will honestly didn't know anything about the Company, nor how it ran its far-flung enterprises. Yet Flynn had not been hanged, that much was true.

Jack suddenly sank onto the divan, low enough that Will could finally see his face. He looked stunned and confused. "I can't grasp that. I was there with you." He looked upward. "Why didn't you take me into your confidence?" "I wanted to, many times. But in the end, I always decided it was safer for you not to know. It turned out I was horribly wrong about that."

"I told you, I did try." Then Nate joined him on the divan, his back to Will, partly blocking Jack from his vision. "I argued for your release for months, to no avail. You were just a pirate to them. All the crew were, none of them knew the truth. I didn't realize the mistake in hiding my secret so thoroughly until it was far too late. Eventually I had to assume my new name, and my uncle insisted I return to England for at least a few years, to lie low until such time as it was deemed safe for me to reappear." He reached out to touch Jack's face. "Believe me, it tore me apart to leave you there."

"Jack, please. There hasn't been a single day since then that I haven't thought of you."

A quiver of trepidation ran along Will's spine. Flynn still loved Jack. He mentally willed Jack to look at Flynn again, so he could tell his expression. He shifted a bit, trying to get a better angle through the keyhole.

Then Jack bent his head, not looking at Flynn, eyes cast down. He slowly shook his head. "All that time when we were together, you couldn't trust me with the truth? You know me better than any man, Nate. You know my loyalty. I've never betrayed a trust."

Will felt a pang of guilt at the words. He shouldn't be listening to this. He knew it was wrong, yet he couldn't tear himself away. He told himself he did it out of love. He loved Jack, and he needed to know what he was up against, he needed to know how far he'd have to go to save that love.

"You don't understand my reasons," he heard Flynn say. "I thought, if we were caught by my enemies, that if they learned I was a spy, that you knew I was a spy, that they'd have us both before a firing squad. But if we were captured as pirates, I thought I could convince anyone, being the captain, that I'd pressed you all into service, as they usually acquit seamen who are impressed to piracy. I believed it was safer. I couldn't have known they wouldn't believe me."

"So when you turned the Nighthawk round to save me, the risk of being captured was not so great, was it? The ship that chased us was English. We knew that from the start."

Will knew what Jack must be thinking. For four long years, he'd believed Nate Flynn died because of him, that Flynn had turned back to pluck Jack from the water knowing the act would doom him to capture and the hangman's noose, had made the ultimate sacrifice for love of him. And that had all been a fiction, for if Flynn were secretly working for the English as a spy, then he had little reason to fear capture by an English vessel. His return for Jack had not been such a tremendous sacrifice. And Jack had tormented himself over it for nothing.

"When I turned back to save your life," Flynn replied, "I wasn't thinking about anything else. I didn't care about anything or anyone else, whether we got caught, what would happen afterwards. It didn't matter. You were the only thing that mattered." Flynn reached for Jack again. This time, Jack didn't turn away. Will's gut clenched as Flynn leaned in close to Jack. So close that he completely blocked Will's view of Jack's face, so he couldn't tell whether they had kissed. It damn well looked as if they had. Will tore his gaze away from the keyhole.

Will peered through into the room again. Flynn had moved back enough so that he could see Jack again. He looked disheartened. "I mean everything. You come back from the dead, you tell me a tale that's hard to credit, you act as if the past few years never happened. They happened for me."

"I know that. I'm not trying to pretend this is simple. I just wanted to explain what happened, and to tell you how sorry I am that it did. God Jack, I'm so bloody glad to see you again, I can't think straight. Of course I know you've suffered, I've thought a good deal about what you must have gone through over the years. I would have traded places with you if I could have, believe me. I loved you. And that hasn't changed." Will nearly choked when he heard the words. Don't say you love him back. Please don't. He didn't think he could handle that.

"I'd like to believe that," Jack said. "But you lied to me for three years about who you were. You could be lying still. How do I know who you are now?"

"I'm Captain Nate Flynn, same as ever. I've hidden away long enough, it's safe to revive my real name. And my true character hasn't changed, Jack, merely my occupation has."

"So I heard." Will heard the harsh note in Jack's tone. "You're honestly hunting down a pirate?"

"All legal and aboveboard, no spying, no underhanded activities. Just because you were once a pirate yourself doesn't mean you have to grant them special status, Jack. You and I had our own moral code, our own brand of integrity. Most pirates aren't like we were, and you know that perfectly well. Most of them are vicious, demented, and cruel. The one we've been chasing after, William Rosser, brought his ship out of Madagascar. He's infamous for his heartlessness, most recently against the English merchant vessel Good Fortune, a more tragically misnamed ship it would be difficult to find. When they realized the Ranger outgunned them, that they would be taken as a prize, her master chose to throw the cargo overboard rather than have it fall into the pirate's hands. This act so incensed Rosser that he retaliated by torturing and killing everyone on board, nearly a hundred people. My uncle was one of those men, returning to England. I've chased the Ranger halfway round the world, and I won't give up until she's found and her crew brought to justice, no matter what it takes."

"Fellow called Edward Eaton. We ran into him not too long ago, languishing on a place called the Devil's Isle. It's called that for a good reason."

"Eaton? He willingly came aboard," Flynn replied. "And then made himself such a nuisance to the crew with his preaching that they were ready to toss him overboard. I saved him by putting him ashore."

"It wasn't on the charts. I didn't know what it was called, nor anything about it."

As far as Will could tell, Jack was clearly finding a lot of this hard to swallow. After a long silence, Jack said, "I want to believe you had good reasons for everything you did."

"Want to?" Flynn abruptly rose from the divan. "Jack, I wasn't lying when I said I still love you. I've never stopped. Say you'll come with me."

Jack stood up as well, where Will could no longer see his face. But he did hear Jack say, "No."

"Why not?" Flynn started pacing, waving his arms about. "You don't want to be with me? Or would you prefer to be with someone else? Is that the trouble?"

"You did not answer my question, which leads me to suspect I touched upon a truth there. You prefer someone else." Flynn came to a halt. "It's not that first mate of yours?"

Jack remained silent, effectively answering the question by not speaking a word.

Will bristled. It was one thing for him to wonder if he were too young for Jack, and a different thing entirely for Nate Flynn to say it aloud.

"What do you have in common with a mere lad?" Flynn went on, his tone more strident. "He's pretty enough, I'll grant you that."

Flynn paused, seemed to calm down. "Sorry. I can't help getting angry where you're concerned. But it's probably best if I leave, isn't it?"

"Right. Well, when you're done with your cogitations, come to the Destiny, will you? If only to show me where the best spot for careening may be found?"

"I will do that." Will could see Jack step close to Flynn, and they briefly embraced. "I promise."

Will slowly, painfully got to his feet. He felt awfully shaky, and his palms ached from where his fingernails bit into them. He stayed by the door, waiting for his body to stop hurting, and waiting to hear Jack leave. He couldn't go out into the corridor until he was certain Jack was long gone.

He leaned in closer to the door, his ear to the wood. He heard footsteps. But instead of falling away, they suddenly sounded far too close.

Will started backward, too late. The connecting door wrenched open, and he found himself face to face with a livid Jack, his face red, his shoulders shaking.

Jack stood there, hand gripping the knob, glaring at Will. "Get your fill, did you?"

Will tried to stammer something apologetic, but Jack cut him off. "So much for trust," he said sharply. Then he wheeled round and strode off.

"Jack!" Will dashed through into the corridor, in time to see him grabbing his hat from the footman in the entryway. "Wait!"

He didn't. He spun on his heel and bolted through the front doors, practically at a run. Will followed as far the mansion's porch steps, shouting, knowing it was hopeless. He didn't really want to catch Jack up, not when he was this angry. Nor did Will want to let him go, knowing he'd likely run straight to Flynn's ship. Yet he had no choice. He'd brought this on himself, as usual.

Will stood at the top of the steps, watching Jack's rapidly diminishing figure. Dammit, why didn't I listen to my head instead of my heart? He sat down heavily on the stoop. Now what? What could he do to make amends? Follow him to the ship? Wait for him aboard the Pearl? What?

So he sat there, unable to move, unable to think, unable to feel anything except misery.

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 12