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Eye of the Beholder
BY: Carole*** Jack was not beautiful. He was not like Elizabeth
with
her slim delicate build, golden hair and skin as a soft as feather's down. He was something completely removed from beauty. No, instead he was wind whipped braids and mats of hair, smile that flashed golden when he laughed and words that moved from brilliant to nonsensical in an instant, and sometimes there was no distinguishing between the two. He did not smell of perfume and roses, but of salt and sweat and sea. About him, like a miasma, hung the faint hint of alcohol even when he was sober, a hint that was no longer faint when the occasion struck him, which was something that happened a great deal more often than any reputable man would have allowed. Not that such a thing would stand in the way of Jack Sparrow, who had been called the best (and worst) pirate in the Caribbean. It blended into something that was uniquely Jack, something that was all the more noticeable for the lack of regularity he apparently had when it came to bathing. The combination was not entirely pleasant, in many ways, just like the man himself. Most of the time Will wasn't sure he liked him at all. Not only did his unsanitary habits wear on his nerves, but Jack had a talent for simply pissing him off. Will didn't know if it was completely deliberate, but he had his suspicions. He was an abrasive drunkard who could not keep his hands where they belonged, whether flailing about in the air or becoming too comfortable with those around him. Tavern wenches and Anna Maria had both had Jack become too familiar and, while the tavern wenches did not mind, Anna Maria was liable to remove said appendages if it happened once too often. As it was, Jack had experienced bumps and bruises in interesting places. Even with Will, his comradery would have been pushing the bounds of propriety had he been anyone but Jack Sparrow who found propriety a useless thing to be discarded at a moments notice. Though it was true he could be charming when he chose. Especially since he was a consummate liar, drunk or sober, and proudly admitted to being a dishonest man. Usually, though, he was as much confusing as he was dishonest making whether he told the truth or not an irrelevant factor. His best lies were the honest ones. And Will came to learn that there were many scorned lovers in his past, for Jack seemed to stay true to nothing but the sea and his ship. There was a small part of himself, though he didn't like to admit it, that took a bit of delight in the slap from every offended woman as such fickleness was offensive to his moral senses, even coming from a pirate. Except in the cases where the women glared at him in ways that, had he been the less brave sort, would have made him run back to the Pearl and never set foot on land again. As if, somehow, Will was in any way responsible for Jack's behaviour. Too, when he thought about it, the comments about his manliness right from the start hadn't helped his feelings much. And he would like to be trusted to steer the Pearl once, just once. Really, was that so much to ask? Still, he was the one at Jack's back, a position no one else attempted to take. Or perhaps they were too smart to do so. But Will would ride the dangerous waters of circumstance along with his captain and it was only afterwards, after the high of adrenaline and moments of synchrony, that he dared question it and found it made no sense whatsoever. Then he would be asked to go along with some other harebrained scheme that dared all manner of ills. Somehow, he would be drawn in yet again, no matter how loud or logical his protests about how it wouldn't, couldn't possibly succeed which were stilled with a mere sentence. The explanation of 'Because I'm Captain Jack Sparrow' had infuriated him, until he realized how true it was. Being around Jack was like being caught up in a never ending tempest. He fell again and again into impossible situations and came through unscathed, though the average man would be dead a hundred times over. Tendrils of his luck, not necessarily good luck mind, extended around him, ensnaring like a spider's web any within reach. Some were lucky and escaped, merely brushing shoulders with the impossible, but others were trapped beyond hope of reprieve. The longer you spent in Jack's company, the less likely escape seemed. Sometimes you could pass for a time in the eyes of the storm, the false calm that was sure to end as quickly as it began, with no warnings either way. There was an intensity when one was about Jack, especially then, that prodded into witnesses of his miraculous scrapes with death that did not even leave the passers by unscathed. An intensity mirroring his love for his ship and the sea. This drew the fly into the spiders den for good. It was his eyes, Will decided, shining in their darkened rims, when they turned with that same intensity on him. It was as if, at some point he hadn't noticed, he had ceased to be that annoying 'honest lad' and he didn't know what that look meant exactly, but it made him nervous and uncomfortable. He stayed anyway. He couldn't bring himself to leave, which was what annoyed him about Jack most of all. Sometimes, in the moments when the world turned upside down, Will had fancies that Jack was not a man at all, but some strange mad god that had risen out of the sea fully formed and into his life. And when the sun fell from the heavens in a tapestry of light with Jack standing at the helm in a gleam of red and gold, he caught himself believing them. Of course, this always passed quickly, for all he had to do was remember all the other times he had spent in the man's company and good sense would dissuade him from such foolishness. Jack had too many baser instincts to be anything but a man indeed. Perhaps because or perhaps in spite of these qualities, Will was here, stepping onto the deck of the most infamous ship in the Caribbean. Though it was now crewed by living men, the legend of the Black Pearl would take time to fade. The air was salty and sprays of water misted across his skin. He blinked, freeing himself from the shackles of sleep, eyes slowly focusing on the forms of the vessel around him that was illuminated by starlight and moonshine. He reached up with one hand and pulled his now unruly hair back from his face in a practiced gesture. Behind him the other members of the Pearl's crew lay in drunken oblivion, victims of a challenge taken too far. Only his abstinence as judge, and the inner knowledge that Jack should have at least one functional crew member, had prevented him from the same fate, though exhaustion had forced him to close his eyes without his consent. In spite of this, there was one other who had strangely avoided the travesty below. Indeed, he had not joined in at all but for a single swig before wishing them merry and vanishing. A lone figure could be made out at the helm of the vessel, one Jack Sparrow in solitary company. Though one wouldn't have known it by his actions. He was talking to himself. This was not the most unusual activity, per say, as Will had done it also on occasion. That he appeared to be talking to either his ship, the sea, or both in an animated discussion utilizing some tongue that had never before crossed human lips was somewhat disturbing. It became especially more so given that he was the man navigating. One hand moved in an almost graceful flutter to emphasize some unknown point. Too much drink had obviously addled his brain over the years through his constant abuse of it. It certainly didn't help that his words raised gooseflesh on Will's skin, like he could almost understand what Jack was prattling on about. The idea that Jack had affected him that much was nearly as terrifying as the rest of the man's peculiarities combined. A part of him wanted to move his feet back below deck. There was another part that pulled him forward. It was that part of him that liked being part of Jack's confidence, for surely his presence was known. While this prescience was limited, on the Black Pearl, it seemed that Jack could sense the scurry of every rat, let alone the presence of another human being. It amazed him that Barbossa had managed to accomplish a mutiny. Or, more likely, Jack had realized that he would be the only one able to walk with steady feet. If it had been anyone else, the voice would have moved onto a madness more human in it's intent. That it did not was telling. For there were things that Jack would say, not in secrecy precisely, but out of the range of the crew's ears that Will was privileged to overhear. He continued, legs accustomed to the slight rolling of the ship with the ease of growing practice, especially on a calm night such as this. Will made his way to stand a few feet ahead of the steering wheel. The nonsensical babble ceased momentarily and he turned, hands clasped behind his back, to see Jack remove his tattered hat. The man gave a slight bow, as one would to a lady, and a glimmer of teeth could be seen between shadowed lips at the mockery. "Good morrow, Mr. Turner." The ragtag article returned to its usual place. "And how are you this fine day?" "It is hardly day yet, Captain." A hand flicked up in the air in response, denying his objection. "Soon enough there, luv." Will didn't even blink at the endearment. When one was around Jack Sparrow, one learned to accept some things and endure. It also gave him unspoken permission to drop formality. With that comment, Jack went back to his previous conversation. It made Will's ears itch and pressure build slightly behind his eyes. His control lasted five minutes, if that. "Just what are you saying?" he asked finally when he could stand it no longer. And as Jack opened his mouth, he amended his statement slightly. "And don't tell me it's Chinese." Not that Will had many dealings with Chinamen, but there was one who had managed to make his way into Port Royal some years ago and, overcome by the curious youth, the man had indulged his enthusiasm for a few brief hours. When one lived in a port city, languages were something that you could at least recognize. The statement had a secondary meaning of 'Jack, I'm not a complete idiot, in spite of what you may think.' "Just a bit o' this and that. It's not something that explaining would help, if'n you can't get it. Savvy?" Something in his tone seemed regretful, sad even, and perhaps a bit puzzled, that Will had needed to ask at all. "Try." Will glared at him in the grey half light. "Well, its like this. Everything..." he trailed off with a grandiose sweeping gesture. "Everything has a voice, aye? And there are, let's call'm things, that speak a bit louder than others 'round the sea. And once a man starts listen to 'em, well, it's like..." For once Will saw Jack at a loss for words, probably the only time such a thing would ever happen. His head tilted, twisting his hat askew. "It's like you can't really stop hearing 'em. Drink and anything else just makes 'em louder. And soon, you don't want to stop listening. Like it'd be better to hang than leave 'em behind." As a whole, the entire explanation was unsatisfactory rubbish, but Will could see Jack was at least attempting to answer his question honestly. After all, the man was a bit touched. Was it any wonder he heard voices? "This isn't the same claim I've heard sailors use as an excuse to leave good women behind, saying that they're already married to the sea?" he asked with suspicion. Jack shook his head in a negative gesture. "Nothing like that at all, luv. Now, I've met many a man that belonged to the sea and wouldn't leave her to marry anyone." He was fixed with a wicked grin. "Of course, he might give her a try or two, as a parting gift like." At the comment, Will seethed inwardly. His mother's haggard face, the sacrifices she had made to support them both until her death came back to him. Her eyes were always sad, even when she had smiled at him. Him, who looked just like his father. Will's face must have shown his disapproval. Jack, no doubt taking it for a bout of morality, chuckled. Will twitched visibly at the sound and was about to make a scathing reply when the other man cut him off with a very unexpected statement. "I think I'll have to be stepping up your education a bit. Take her." It took a minute for Will to realize what Jack was talking about. He stood stunned. Him? Wasn't this the same Jack who had said that for the sake of their lives he shouldn't be allowed within five feet of the rudder? Well, why not? Will didn't think he'd do that bad a job. After all, hadn't he done just fine during Elizabeth's rescue? He turned fully, crossing the short distance to Jack's side and grasped the helm with one hand. He followed with the other as Jack stepped back to give him room. The wood brushed roughly against calluses gained from many years as a smith's apprentice. He sensed Jack before the Pearl's captain wrapped around behind him, grabbing one hand and pressing it further into the wood. The second came to rest on his shoulder in a comfortable weight. "What...?" he asked in singularly intelligent fashion. His query was cut off as Jack leaned in close, the hand on his shoulder curling up as the man raised a finger to his lips. "Shhh. You can't listen if you're talking." A warm thumb gently soothed and caressed the back of his hand in small circles. Will ignored it. "What would you know about it? You never shut up." "Well, I'm not the one who needs to be listening, am I?" Jack's breath was hot in his ear and moved his hair across his cheek. Rough braids scratched against the side of Will's neck. "Close your eyes." Will almost turned to look at him questioningly, but then thought better of it and humoured him. Lids slipped closed leaving him in blackness. He could feel the smile at his easy compliance. He tensed. Why was he doing this? Jack could obviously feel the change under his hands. "Don't get thinking too hard, Will. Listen." Will breathed, attempting to empty his mind of stray thoughts. The pair stood that way for several minutes. Jack kept humming in his ear, a faint off key buzz and ideas flitted back and forth, never complete, in an inner monologue. When Jack spoke again, he nearly jumped. "You're still thinking too much, luv. Take your tongue and press it to the roof of your mouth." Will complied, mystified, and was surprised when his inner voice quieted to a murmur. Unfortunately, that only made the presence behind him even more distracting and couldn't Jack stop with that blasted hum? He was about to tell him so when he realized that Jack was silent and that wasn't a hum he was listening to at all. Someone was singing, a note so clear and pure that he nearly wept for it. No, it was not someone, but someones and that voice expanded into a hundred, no, a thousand smaller voices and notes and whispers. They sung together, in harmony, and it was joy and sorrow and somehow he knew that here the water was more shallow and there a school of fish, immense in size was passing by. And the harmony became a jumble of sounds and voices, not so pleasant or beautiful, but real like the tide and wind and the scent of Jack that surrounded him. They were not voices he heard with his ears, but they entered through his skin and eyes and drifted to linger in his brain and perhaps he really had gone as mad as a hatter. No doubt about it, Jack had finally driven him over the edge and plunged him into an abyss so deep that there was no way he would ever manage to crawl out. It went on for a moment more, and Will thought that it was like the divine hand of creation had lingered here too long and left a bit of itself behind in the waters. It must be like what those who had an honest calling to the clergy felt and he suddenly understood how a man could devote himself to such a thing so intangible as faith. Then he fell back slightly into Jack and his eyes flew open with a start. For an instant he expected to see all that he had heard, but the only difference from when his eyes had closed was that the sky appeared to be brightening on the eastern horizon. Everything was silent again save for the beating of two pairs of hearts, the rush of air moving in and out of lungs and the sounds of a ship sailing through a calm sea. What had jerked him out of his trance was perhaps hearing more than a mortal man was meant to and his mind clung as a last desperate effort to sanity or, more likely, it was that Jack was nibbling on his earlobe. If he had been in his right mind, Will had no doubt he would have turned and punched him, but as it was he just stood there, unable to even form words, let alone move. No, no doubt at all. "Are you alright there, luv?" Will didn't answer, but Jack had at least removed his teeth and tongue. The wind grew stronger, a brush of unseen spirits that swirled about them, touching with invisible hands. "Your father could hear it too, sometimes. That's how I knew you'd be back. It's in your blood and you can't escape it. Now, I know you're going off to make your fortune and all, but I want you to think about something real careful like." He paused, as if preparing himself. "Now, Miss Swann is a fiery one, no mistaking that, and, had I met her under other circumstances... but that was not to be. Save her life and the girl burns up all me rum." His voice filled with a mournful longing that would not have been out of place at a funeral. He leaned into Will's shoulder, as if to catch his balance, sighing to himself. After a moment, he continued. "Anyway, could she live up to that, day by day, when you're stuck by her side?" Word's still wouldn't form, not even in defence of a dream that he'd cherished for so many years. "I... That..." "Of course, it's even better with rum." At the irreverent statement, he finally found his voice. "That's your answer to everything." "Not quite everything." It seemed that Jack managed to get even closer to his ear and Will was very aware of the press of Jack against him, warm breath passing over flesh at the words. "Some things are worth the sacrifice of sobriety. It makes certain articles work better." Once again, Will decided to ignore the obvious implications of that statement. So instead of recoiling in disgust, he asked, "Is this what the sea is to you?" "Not just the sea, luv. It's freedom. It's everything." That seemed more like a willing sort of slavery than any freedom he'd ever heard of. "Freedom? You could lose yourself in that. That's not freedom at all." And no doubt Jack already had lost himself long ago. His mind had simply wandered off and never returned. "But I know something most men don't, eh? When the Pearl and I go down together, we know where we'll end up." It was as if there was no doubt that the pair would be cradled in the same watery grave. "As long as I die over water, or close enough to it. That's a freedom all men dream of, knowing where they'll end up and where they belong. I have both." Just like Will knew where he belonged, had known for much longer than he had ever wanted to admit it to himself. The answer to why he found himself in the same position again and again. He would have to deal with that later. Later, when he didn't hear the faint stirrings of the crew who would no doubt appear at the worst possible time if he began anything now. "You're still mad," he stated with certainty, disentangling himself from Jack's embrace with quick, efficient motions. Yes, mad indeed and if such insanity had not be infectious, he wouldn't be here. "And what does that say about you?" There was a slight disappointment in his eyes, but Will met them directly. "That I am no doubt the crazier of the two of us." Crazy enough to follow him through hell and high-water. Jack smiled once again, even with his eyes. He must have read something into the words or glance that Will wasn't even sure he had meant to say. "Now that's the spirit." With that, Jack reached up with one hand and straightened his hat before throwing up his chin towards the beginnings of dawn and turning the Pearl towards the horizon. "To freedom." The ship ploughed through the lightly cresting waves and the timbers creaked. For an instant, Will thought he heard the murmuring of voices just beyond his understanding and he blinked, shaking his head, until they were drowned out by one much more substantial. "Drink up me hearties, yo ho..." The Black Pearl was not Jamaica. Here, no solid land greeted his feet, no buildings stood in his path, no trees filled the inner island with spires of brown and green. The Black Pearl was planks and rope, iron and tar and the expanse of the sea that now began to reflect golden like the vastest treasure ever conceived in a thousand dreams of greedy conquerors and buccaneers. Not like Port Royal at all with its fair haired women and dark commodores, but instead the home to a scraggly scallywag captain. It seemed that he would have no trouble devoting himself to something far more corporeal than faith. Lips quirking up in a smile, Will let his own reply slip between his teeth in a breath of air much to low for Jack, or anything else that might have been listening, to hear. "To freedom." Beauty was, after all, in the eye of the beholder. |
