Chapter 1

           The deck rolled pleasantly under Jack’s feet.  He let the swell of
the open ocean soothe him, lull him into a relaxed state.  He stood balanced,
with one hand lightly guiding the wheel and the other hanging loosely at his
side.  He closed his eyes briefly, tilting his head back, letting the sharp,
cool air that swept up off the sea buffet him.  He loved the ocean, he’d always
had and now that he had the Pearl back, he could go anywhere, do anything he
wanted.  But something kept nagging at the back of his mind, some troubling
feeling kept him in familiar waters, near Port Royal – a silly, dangerous thing
to do, but then again Captain Jack Sparrow was nothing if not brilliantly mad.  

            A sharp swell had the deck tilting, causing even the more
experienced hands to watch their step, and the newcomers to the ship to fall on
their ass – a sight which had the older hands laughing loudly.  

            Jack rode the swell out, swaying with it – he’d been on the sea for
nearly his entire life; he’d been born on a ship, raised near and on ships, and
now was the proud Captain of the legendary Black Pearl.  He hated being on dry
land – it didn’t move right, it didn’t sway like the deck of the boat, like it
should.  Jack’s face creased into a sharp smile at his straying thoughts – and
then cracked open an eye, checking on his crew.  Ah, they’re fine, he thought
with a touch of pride.  And if they’re not I’ll have them be, double sharp, I
will.  Ah, Will.  The smile faded from his face as he opened his eyes fully,
squinting a bit at the bright sunlight.  He checked his compass and minutely
adjusted the wheel before returning to his musings.  

            Will Turner – now that was a thought that needed hours of time and
several bottles of rum to ponder.  Jack sighed and looked out over the open
ocean, sky clear as bell with a right proper wind.  They would make Tortuga by
nightfall if the winds kept up.  His crew needed a breather – some fine ladies
(and gentlemen) for their entertainment and bottles of rum to drown themselves
in.  Could use some myself right about now, I could.  The Royal navy had been
hounding them far more than usual, and the result had them all edgy and
irritable.  

            Jack shifted on his feet, the hot press of the sun warmed deck
heating his boots – I’ll have to get them resoled while in port – or just get
another pair.  Nodding to himself slightly, the Captain shifted again, this time
settling his weight more securely against the rolling motion of the boat.  He
wondered faintly where Will was, and if Elizabeth had finally gotten her wedding
– poor lad, in a way.  The sea’s in this blood – now that he’s been on her
properly, he’ll never find rest till he’s on the deck of a ship again.  Jack
frowned and brought his free hand up to rub his temples.  He didn’t want to
think about Will Turner just now – not sober at least.  Thinking about the boy
made his head hurt and his stomach clench in unpleasant ways.  

            Unbidden, Will’s dark eyes sprang to mind – soft and proud, so sure
of his convictions and beliefs when Jack had first met him.  So trusting and
hopeful – he lost a great deal of that innocence on our little adventure, Jack
mused, a fond smile hovering around his lips.  All for the better, that is. 
Eyes like that could get the lad in trouble – well, in more trouble than he
already is.  Jack tried to shrug his somber thoughts off, and succeeded – to a
degree.  He knew they’d come back later to haunt him; usually late at night and
alone in bed.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and slam his head into the
nearest blunt object – he really needed to get to port, get pissed and visit one
of the finer establishments of pleasure.  A good tumble will set me right, the
pirate thought with an eager leer.  A small voice in the back of his mind
disagreed with him, but he squashed it unmercifully.  Quiet you.  And no piping
up with the need to visit one of the other kinds of
 brothels, we’re trying to forget the lad, remember?  Not foster some kind of
silly hope.  Jack let his shoulders slump briefly, and fervently hoped the wind
kept up.  He really needed a drink.  Well, more than one drink.  At least four…

*_*_*_*

            Will slammed his hammer repeatedly on the white-hot metal in front
of him blindly.  He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to feel – all he wanted
to do was work.  Work until he dropped with exhaustion, work until he nearly
fell asleep in the smithy proper like his drunk of a master once did.  Just –
keep working.  Don’t think, a small voice said softly in the back of his mind,
spurring him on.  He ignored the rising blisters on his hands, and the ache of
overused muscles; all of it was secondary to the pain lodged in his chest.

            Elizabeth was the cause of the pain, of course.  Just as she was the
cause of nearly everything in his life.  His rescue, his first adventure, his
drive to become the best, most respected blacksmith in town.  She had been a
part of his life, his thoughts, his dreams for so long…and he’d almost been able
to realize those dreams, those daytime fantasies he had harbored when he was
still young and green, beating out nails in the back of the smithy and trying to
avoid the old man’s heavy fist.  But those dreams were dashed now, along with
his heart, all because of her.  

            Elizabeth…Will could feel a lump lodge itself in his throat and he
pounded viciously on the metal in front of him.  Elizabeth indeed.  

            It hadn’t taken long for the high born girl to get bored with the
idea of marrying a lower class man – their engagement had gone on for just long
enough for the talk of the scandal to spread and Elizabeth to become the
laughing stock of all society.  Will had thought she had been better than that,
better than all the laughing sycophants that played at being adventurous dandies
while sitting in comfortably secure waters, away from the dangerous high seas. 
I guess I was wrong.  I was wrong about a lot of things, he thought, a bitter
taste flooding into his mouth.

            Though it offered little comfort, Will also acknowledged that the
pain at losing face in front of society had surprised Elizabeth as well.  He
still remembered her faintly confused, pained expression as she read through the
many anonymous letters she had received over the course of their engagement;
horrible, poisonous letters that mocked their love and their plans for a future
together.

            In the end, Will blamed a number of things for Elizabeth calling off
the wedding.  It was partly the letters, partly how she was sure to be
ostracized from all ‘good’ society, as well as the pressure from her father that
made her finally fold to the will of others.  But, he also blamed her too – he
couldn’t help it.  He was hurt, well, shattered, really; she should have had
more faith, more strength.  Who needs society?  Who needs fancy parties and
lollygagging around in parlor rooms?  He snarled to himself as he finally threw
the hammer away from himself and crumpled to the ground.  Who needs good, honest
life when you can surround yourself with riches and pretties?  Oh God, who am I
fooling.  He bowed his head, raising his fists until they pressed into his eyes
tightly.  He wasn’t crying, damn it.  He wasn’t.  But the tight hitching of his
breath and the watery sniffling betrayed him.  It hurts, damn it.  It hurts so
bad.  It shouldn’t – I should have seen it coming,
 but damn it, it still hurts.  He shuddered, letting out a long, painful breath.  

            He lowered his hands slowly until they rested on his thighs,
ignoring the blisters that were spreading in his palms and the faint trembling
that was running through them.  This is not how a man should act, he lectured
himself sternly.  Get yourself together, you bloody fool.  He took in a deep
breath, and then another.  After a few moments he rose and looked down at the
twisted mess of metal on the anvil, lovely.  Another ruined sword.  He chucked
the offending mass into a box of scrap metal that was to be melted down later
and set about banking the fires and cleaning up the shop.  He knew he wasn’t
about to get any work done that day, and resolved to himself that he would go
home, get blind drunk and hopefully drown his sorrows that way.  Yes, a good,
stiff drink.  God I sound like Jack.  Will’s mouth twitched upwards slightly at
that.  But he didn’t mind sounding like Jack – as long as he could block out the
memories of the last day and a half.  Yep, I need a drink. 

 Hell I need more than one drink…maybe four…With a sigh, Jack took one last
sweep of the smithy before locking it up behind him and heading to his small
room with a heavy step.