The agile little beast crawled across the edge of the cursed treasure. It reached
in, slowly...

//No, don't...//

Snatched back quickly...

//Stop...//

Turned skeletal in the moonlight and leapt at him with a snarl-

* * *

-and Will Smith, no relation, sat straight up in bed, dislodging the other man,
whose loose dark hair tickled unmentionable places.

For someone in bed with his new lover, though, (new being extremely relative,)
Jack Byrd was himself unaccountably tense.  Will knew, somehow...

"You were dreaming about that damn monkey too, weren't you?"

"Ugh. Yeah."

"That was weird. It couldn't have been a memory - you were on an island drinking
rum, and I...I was still in England when the curse took hold...and anyway, if
it'd happened like that, they'd never have spent the stuff..."

"Maybe we're having their nightmares. Or maybe it's something symbolic..." Jack
Byrd shook his head, levering himself up on his elbows. He winced. "Ow. Caffeine
withdrawal. I cannot have deep thoughts before my first cup of coffee. It's
impossible."

"Improbable?"

"Improbably painful.  Be a good cabin boy and make me some java before you
leave...ow!" For Will had whacked him across the back of the head.

"Hazy memories or no, I'm fairly sure I was never your cabin boy."

"Well, you certainly weren't me *first* mate." Will smiled at the touch of pirate
lacing Jack's voice, of a sudden. "Though I may have been yours?"

"Not in *this* lifetime."

Jack snorted. "Well, that's a given. I recall a certain couch..."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Not likely. Although I'd consider a parley over..."

"Coffee?"

"Very good."

It was, at that - Will made a mean cup of Joe for Jack, although Jack's machine
ground its own beans and was practically idiot-proof. Over breakfast, they sat,
each leafing through a book or pamphlet that Will's colleague Liz had dropped off
earlier that week. Liz had claimed to have obtained them from a friend, all the
treatises on past lives and reincarnation, but Will had a sneaking suspicion that
one or two were hers, the result of Elizabeth Swann whispering in her ear.

"Ha!" he said, grabbing a pencil and underlining, then touching Jack's sleeve.
"This is what I meant to show you yesterday. Right here. It talks about
triggering your past life memories."

"I think I glanced at...no...maybe I didn't..."

"Look. It says everyone has a different trigger. You may go all your life without
hitting it, but there are some very specific actions that create such a strong
sense of déjà vu that the past personality breaks down the barriers of your
conscious mind."

"So you were mine, and I was yours."

"In more ways than one."

"Indeed. In word and deed, as it were."

"It were. It is."

A lengthy, vaguely toast-flavored kiss broke apart with regret on either side. 
"At least it's Friday," Will said, on his way to the door. "We'll have the whole
weekend to do whatever,"

"Which I fully intend to do..."

"And Liz is coming by later tonight to compare notes."

"You know, in this life, she could quite possibly kick both our asses?"

"Me, maybe. You? Annie Mae let slip about the black belt in Tae Kwon Do."

"Only because nobody *really* teaches Drunken Boxing. Jackie Chan is God."

"Heathen."

* * *

The day's work proceeded apace, Jack with Annie Mae and Josh, sifting through
Royal Inc's finances with a fine-toothed comb.  By now, they all had a definite
sense that something in the firm's tithe to Uncle Sam didn't quite fit, even if
they weren't yet quite sure of the thing's shape in and of itself.  Annie Mae was
certain the answer was to be found in the facilities costs, and Jack didn't
dispute her - at least, not today.

Quite apart from the pirate prowling his back-brain, Jack's mind was not entirely
on his work. He knew it wasn't always obvious, as his focus (while not seeming to
focus) was legendary, but he had the feeling that his colleagues were catching
on. Annie Mae, at least, could usually pinpoint this particular mood.

For while his carnal desires had been sated lately, extremely so, there was
another longing that rose in Jack on a regular basis. In Captain Jack Sparrow, it
had been the need for a deck beneath his feet, and the endless horizon before
him. Jack Byrd felt the echoes of this, more strongly now than once, but in his
own lifetime, the sea-call had been subsumed. Sublimated, plowed under, emerging
anew as a different imperative.

//Must surf.//

//Must Surf.//

//Must SURF.//

When Josh Gibson hid the spreadsheet covering his screen to find tidal charts,
Jack knew the game was up.  The older, stouter man looked over at Annie Mae and
clicked his tongue. Annie Mae rolled her eyes. Jack raised his arms, palms flat,
in a theatrical shrug, eyes downcast but somehow utterly unrepentant.

The day's end came as ever, and while the government crew usually stayed late
into the night, Annie Mae reached over and snapped Jack's laptop shut.

"I can see it in your eyes, honey. You're no good to anyone.  I'll get you home,
you hitch your board to your bike, and you get out there."

"Who's whose boss here?"

"Get out there, *Mr. Byrd.*" She tossed him the car keys. "Don’t get any funny
ideas. I'm driving. But you go on ahead."  She caught up, not too much later,
after a quick detour through manufacturing, to drop a note on the desk of a
certain manager.

When she left Jack at his door, it was with a command to "shoo!" So half an hour
later, he was shoeless, and otherwise wrapped in Neoprene. Jack watched the deep
blue of the Pacific curl up and fade to green, and licked his lips.

Four-foot swells. He could handle waves far taller than this, could have turned
pro in his misspent youth. He hadn't, though - surfing in front of a crowd, for
him, was like having sex in public. Not that there was anything wrong with that,
per se, but there was a time and a place. The ocean lapped at his feet.

//Oh, I've *missed* you...// 

He hefted his board, tossed it with the two cartoon turtles face up, lay atop it.
Jack paddled out beyond the first breakers, and just swayed awhile. Then the
ocean made herself known to him, gathering force at his back. He pulled himself
up and felt that *click,* and then...he flew.

The next hours were lost in a haze, all spray, salt, and sand.  Gradually, he
became aware of a tickling, there in the back of his mind.  He listened...heard...

//...oh, now.  I rode her long and hard, true, but I never did touch her so
intimate...//

//...jack?...//

//...something amazing you've found for us...//

//...do you want to?...//

//...lend me a bit, then...//

Jack Byrd focused on the distant voice, let himself fall, just a little, let
something *else* support his legs and arms.  //Like so, and like so,// he
thought, and felt the answering thrill, a wild manic sensation.

The pirate, it seemed, had been made for this, more a thing of the sea than his
present self. He felt her take him as he'd dreamed she could, pulling him into a
flight worthy of his namesake. She curled about him, became his land and sky
and...

//...ah, now what?...//

//...hold your breath...//

She milled them under in a cloud of sand, a rolling, punishing series of blows.

//...I don't think I deserved that...//

* * *

Following Annie-Mae's cryptic note, Will arrived at the small beach. If he hadn't
been told exactly where the access was, he'd never have found it, but...just so.
Anamaria had drafted more than a few treasure maps in her day.

The sun neared the horizon, casting everything in warm tones. Jack's bike was
parked near rickety plank stairs, overgrown with thin coastal weeds. A towel lay
tossed across the seat.  Will removed his shoes and socks and walked out onto the
beach in jeans and a t-shirt. Upon consideration, he turned, grabbed the towel,
tossed it over his shoulder, and then proceeded.

William Smith considered himself grounded, a person with roots - friends, family.
Still, he'd never been able to live far from the ocean. He'd never much
considered the hold the vast blue had over him, just taken it for granted. To see
it in the distance, daily...then, he could breathe. But this was now.

Then...

Then he had been the son of a pirate, with salt in his blood. Then, he'd felt the
ocean's lure oh so strong, and sought to deny it. And he had, until Jack. Jack,
who was the capricious sea personified, fallen into his smithy by chance and
cunning.

Jack, who swaggered out of the surf, here, now, dark hair dripping, board under
one arm. The body and the clothes were Byrd's, and perhaps some of the look in
his eyes, but oh, he moved like Jack Sparrow, board and all.

Jack and the sea called Will Turner, and with every step toward the water, Will
Smith fell away. Here, near the element that was his addiction, Will Turner
filled the skin of his present self, who welcomed his possession, and eagerly
awaited possession of a different sort.

The sand grew packed and damp beneath his toes, and Will was strong now. He ran
his fingertips along the edges of the denim pants, enjoying sensation...and of a
sudden there was fear. The memory of a damned captain who also longed to feel....

His present self felt his alarm, if not all the reason for it. Waves of
reassurance, mixed with need...

//...ssh...it's all right...go to him...//

//...you associate me with sex...//

//...is that a bad thing?...//

And Smith did have a point.

Besides, the ocean was in his ears, and Jack filled his eyes.  Byrd's or
Sparrow's, the other man's gaze fairly burned.  Will reached up, grabbed hold 
of the damp locks, and pulled him in for a kiss.  

The kiss turned about on him as Jack bore them both to the sand, pressing in
until Will felt thoroughly looted. And he hadn't even been plundered yet...

When they came up for air, Will ran one finger beneath a raw, red scrape on
Jack's cheek.

"She likes it rough," Jack explained, with a grin.

"Ah."

Then a flurry of movement, wet sand flying as Will's clothing went likewise. A
wetsuit, alas, could not be ripped off with ardor...

So Will unzipped it with his teeth.

At length, he peeled Jack from the modern fabric. His captain was on him with 
a growl. They rolled hard across the sand, the towel left behind as wishful
thinking. "Oh," Will said, "How I have missed you..."

He felt the smile against the quick kiss that captured his mouth as Jack leaned
up and back, pulling him along.  "Said the same to her earlier," he murmured.
"Fancy a threesome?" And Will realized he really should have paid more attention
to where they were going as water rushed in up to his calves.

Water this cold might unman one, but here and now it was only enough of a shock
to keep Will dizzy and off-balance. As warm hands rubbed the grains of sand
across his chest and Jack's hips set a different rhythm, length against length,
Will could only gather more sand in his fists and moan softly.  He felt the sea
on his legs and heard the sea in Jack's voice as it washed them, shocking cold in
time to the warm beat of his heart. He rose to meet Jack, rolled, plunged against
him, regained a bit of himself and set a rhythm, was rewarded with a groan. Then
Jack's hips refused to follow any pattern and rolled up, down, and sideways, and
the sea hit his calves again, and they were touching so, aligning...aligned,
rubbing sinfully, and the ocean washed to their thighs, and Will felt the cool of
her and the warmth of Jack, the utter heat of him....

Back arched...eyes rolled back...pressed so hard into Jack again and again, both
pulsing and oh, the tide, Jack was so like the tide...breath caught in his throat
and ... oh...yes....

Will collapsed against Jack and the sand, eyes opening to a particularly sated
grin.  Smith was a satisfied murmur in his mind, but growing in strength. Turner
let go with a twinge of regret, and as he fell away, whispered, "Who am I?"

Jack, being Jack, answered the question differently.

"Who do ye wish to be?"

* * *

"They held on longer this time."

"Yeah," Jack said, meditatively.

"And Will was...different. Something disturbed him. I have the weirdest feeling
 - like he's keeping something back, you know? Something about hanging on like 
he did. Which I had no problem with, mind you."

"Well, sure. Every time he takes the lead, you're having sex."

"Funny. That's what he said." Will waited until Jack had replaced the surfboard
in its garage rack, then said, "Will Turner was a pirate. I swear I remember
that."

"Pirate and blacksmith, yeah, by turns."

"I thought pirates didn't *have* existential angst."

"Bootstrap's boy broke a great many rules," Jack replied, "even if they were
mostly guidelines, really." A bit of Sparrow again. Will loved that. And
also...//Bootstrap...I have *got* to call my Dad this week...// That, Will
decided, was going to be a surprise.

Will cycled through the shower first, so when Liz arrived, he was lounging in
sweats. Jack, on the other hand, was wearing one towel and whisking water from
his hair with another. Will let him answer the door, just to hear Liz' long, 
low wolf whistle.  "Hey, Lizzie," he called from the couch.

"Will, I swear to God..."

"A thousand pardons, Miss Swann..."

"I can't win, can I?"

"Nope."

"So, not that I'm complaining, mind you," Jack said, finger-combing damp locks,
"but it's Friday night. Why aren't you out with your fiancée instead of staring
at half-naked, and I might add better-looking, men?"

"First of all, Jack, your opinion of yourself knows no bounds, which surprises
me not at all, but does not make it at all in fact accurate." This delivered in
Elizabeth's smooth tones. "And to answer your question," Liz sighed, "Horatio
Hornblower marathon. He's never even gonna know I'm gone."

"Has he...?"

"Nope. Nothing. And I think I'd be the first to know. Somewhere in my hot Texas
honey is a gallant British commodore, but wherever he is..." She smirked, "It's
not where you found your pirates, that's for sure." She hefted a white paper bag.
"So, where are all the brochures and such? I brought baked goods."

"Kitchen. We were..."

A bang and a scuffling noise interrupted them. "Bloody squirrels, I *will* eat
the next one..." Jack swore, running for the kitchen. The three entered the room
in just enough time to catch the switch of a dark tail-tip at the window, and
nothing more.

"Will, do you think you could start practicing with swords again? I'm really
wantin' to see squirrel on a skewer..."

"Yeah, but do you want to be scraping squirrel guts off the wall?"

"Figured that'd be the cabin boy's job..."

"I was *not* your damn cabin boy...Liz, tell him something?"

"Oh, I'm pleading amnesia and staying out of this one."  She sighed. "Damn thing
was running around on the table, wasn't it?"

"Looks like. It shuffled all the books and pamphlets around, too." Will reached
down and picked up the book he'd leafed through that morning. "Here, sit down 
and put those out and I'll show you something."

"I'm leaving that straight line alone, so to speak," Liz said, spreading the
pastries out on a plate and joining them at the table. "So..."

Will lifted something chocolate in one hand and opened the book with the other.
"See? Triggers. Different situations for different people. I'm betting it's a 
lot more likely with everyone ending up together like we did. So, your trigger 
was the song, or you and Jack singing it. Ours was..." 

"You're blushing again. That's cute."

"Anyway, I have no clue what Greg's would be."

"I could let him lasso my neck," Jack said, "but if the moment runs away with
him, you might be short an auditor."

"And while I'm sure Bob from Finance would do the dance of joy, I'd be a little
put out." She smiled. "I don't think Greg would actually kill you, but - "

"Oh, *that's* comforting..."

"- I agree, might be best not to tempt fate."

"So glad we agree."

"Hunh. Don't remember this one - must be one of Amy's..." Liz lifted a brochure
from atop the stack. "...Licensed Hypnotherapist...Past-life Regression..."

"Let me see..." Jack said, whisking it away. "Oh, look - she takes walk-ins on
Saturdays." He executed a quick bobbing head-turn and grinned at Will. "Let's do
it!"

"Well...okay. Sure."  

"Liz? D'ye want to come?"

"I'm afraid I must decline," she replied, just a hint of Elizabeth answering the
Captain. "Dragging Greg to Ikea, and then jump school - apparently I need some
training even if I'm going tandem."

Jack looked at her just a bit too seriously. "Skydiving or furniture shopping
with Norrington. Honestly, I can't say which prospect frightens me more."

* * *

The next morning, Jack seated Will behind him on his bike and the two headed into
the city proper, a former pirate attempting to keep his eyes on the road with the
warmth of a former pirate/blacksmith pressing into his back. An unprepossessing
three-story building matched the brochure's address. The two, helmets in hand,
ascended the outdoor staircase, letting themselves in the open office door. The
sign read "Celia Schuyler," followed by the usual alphabet soup.

A woman met them three feet in, all soft blue layers and mid-length brown hair.
She had captivating grey eyes, Jack noticed, and thought that must come in handy,
considering her profession.

"You _must_ be thirsty," Dr. Schuyler said, "You wait here. I'll get you
something to drink."  She was back shortly with three glasses of juice. Taking
one, she handed the other two to Will and Jack. They introduced themselves, with
Jack as the specified client, Will to observe. A check changed hands and Jack
settled into a comfortable chair.

"Now, what brings you here? The past life regression is most of my clientele
these days...is it that?"

"Well, yeah," Jack said. "Pretty much."

"So what are your symptoms? Vivid dreams? Incidents of particularly strong déjà
vu?" At Jack's nod, she continued. "What tends to bring this on?" Jack glanced at
Will, and sure enough the kid was blushing again. "Oh...ah...never mind, then..."
She gathered herself and went on. "Now, I will tell you up front that there are
no guarantees. Sometimes déjà vu is just a feeling, and sometimes it's an
authentic reminiscence of a previous existence on this plane.  Also, don't expect
to recall having been Marc Antony or Cleopatra - that sort of thing is very rare.
Most folk were servants or slaves, if you go back far enough." 

Dr. Schuyler leaned forward, very earnest now. "You also need to be careful - if
_you don't trust yourself,_ things may be difficult for you. By this I mean _you
may not trust your prior self._"

Jack thought there might have been something odd about her voice just then.
Perhaps she was starting already - the rhythm was lulling.  "So listen to your
heart," she continued. "And if _you're_ at all _uneasy_, at any point, please let
me know."

"Now, I want you to breathe slowly, in and out, and focus on my voice, the sound
of it, how the words form, and breathe again, good..."

Jack did feel relaxed, he noticed, although he felt the oddest rising paranoia, a
feeling that he should listen to her words themselves, to lessen the effect of
her, but it was the effect he wanted, wasn't it?

He murmured a word...he'd responded to something, he wasn't sure what...

"Good...now go back...where are you now?..."

"Good...farther back...how old are you?..."

Odd clarity, flashes of college and *that* professor, high school, grade
school... 

"Back...back..."

Balking, he was, and it was understandable, for she had entirely too much control
now, far too much of a hold on his state of mind, and he could hardly countenance
it...

"Back..."

Back, forth, and what was direction, anyway, but a tool with which to confuse
one's enemies?

His eyes snapped open.

"Who are you?" Dr. Schuyler asked.

"Same person I was when I walked in here, I'm afraid," Jack replied. "Jack Byrd,
IRS. Your pain, our gain."

"And awake, too." The therapist sighed. "Well, I did warn you that some folk
aren't the best subjects. Look, it may just be me. I have a few recommendations,
if you're ever interested in giving it another go. My card?"

"Thanks. Hey, Will, let's...Will?"

Apparently, Will had been drowsing. He snapped awake in a second, though. "Wha?
Oh. Sorry." He turned a sweetly apologetic look on Dr. Schuyler. "You have a very
relaxing voice."

She shrugged. "It's my job."

Following some pleasantries, they descended the stairs. As they neared Jack's
bike, Will's hand caught Jack's shoulder, turning the man to face him.

Jack watched the smile steal across Will's features. "You cannot fool me,
*Captain* Jack Sparrow."

"Well then, how did y' figure it out?" And oh, the lad was a sight for sore eyes
and heart and hands...especially hands, though with sore hands it would be hard
to do everything he'd wish to, though again they might both be sore once he was
done.

"She could not tell, not having known us, but Byrd had a great deal of your
movement in him, even before.  Your walk, your voice, your manner have been far
too flat for the past several minutes. You have been more Byrd than Byrd ever
was."

"And yer accent is slipping, me own William. Why, pray tell, did y' not reveal
yourself to the lass who makes such as us her life's work?"

"Well, I never was as good an actor as yourself, and as to the second..."oh,
there was the sweet, tolerant smile that made the world spin just a bit more than
it should, which was a good bit already..."I was following your lead, my Captain,
as usual."

"I'll let that one pass, as I recall it rare y' actually listening to me...but it
appears the wench has given us a few gifts. Methinks we ought to have some fun
while they last."

"And how does Byrd feel about all of this?" Will asked, tilting his head.

"Wholeheartedly endorses it, lad - he is a man after me own black heart. And
Smith?"

"...I think he's still asleep." Jack snorted, then waited for it.  "A *few*
gifts?"

"Well, Celia there did have a few pretty shiny things lying about to catch a
man's attention. It is after all her job."

"How long have you been back? Ten minutes?!"  Will paused, then spoke as Jack was
opening his mouth. "I know...I know....Pirate."

"Quick study, still. Now, let's head back to the house, shall we? I'd rather like
to change me attire, and we need to get you out of those wet clothes."

*Captain* Jack Sparrow rather thought Will's expression changed from confused to
apprehensive right about the time his eyes fell on the water bottle Jack Byrd
always kept with his bike.

* * *

That first mind-blowing night of sex in Will's apartment when Turner
and Sparrow had first come aware again had seen them making it as far as
the couch. With the pirate and his blacksmith truly the dominant personalities,
they were lucky they made it past the welcome mat.

Jack ripped off his helmet - he'd found that the helmet visor worked
better than kohl in keeping the glare out of his eyes, which as usual he
couldn't seem to adjust quite properly...and he hadn't even had any rum...which
had to be remedied...*later...* - for now, he was utterly sent by Will completely
driven by his Will's will, as it were. Will, who was tackling zippers with
his teeth again...Jack thought he deserved a medal for his iron control in
keeping still, that the zippers didn't unzip anything that wasn't meant to
be caught between teeth, or steel ones, anyway.

Something less pliant about the lad, too, which lit fires in very interesting
places, and as they lost clothing they wrestled for dominance.  Not that
Jack didn't know that it was his for the taking should he desire, whether
by demand or guile, guile being far more fun. The two were down to unzipped
pants when he tackled the lad and reached beneath the lad's tackle, pressing
in strategic places.  The lovely boy went boneless, except, again, for strategic
places.

"Aaah...oh, oh GOD Jack..."

"Make up your mind, as I'm about to do positively unholy things..."
He followed that with a slow lick from collarbone to jaw, enjoying the lad's
shiver.

"Ss...promises...oh!" Jack rolled them across the rug, enjoying the
burn. He landed atop his Will, who was facedown and trying not to writhe.
Always such fun to break through those reserves...time to be forceful. Will's
pants came suddenly down to confine only his ankles, and Jack's came off.
Some lotion, from behind somewhere, a finger prepared, plunging, crooking
slightly...

"Mmmm....ah, Jack..."

"You've made your choice, then. Well done."

Teeth and tongue applied to the lad's spine, just *so,* as his second
finger stroked, tickled, pressed within to be met by a backward thrust or
three.  

"Oh, damnation, Jack..." And the smile in Turner's voice said he was
going along with the theme. Jack thought it was past time to show him how
much he approved. He clasped the man to him as he withdrew, and slowly, so
slowly positioned, waiting for a groan, a whimper.  When the latter came,
he bit the scruff of Will's neck and growled as he pressed within.

Jack focused on the beautiful curve of Will's back...as though that
would keep things from rushing to a conclusion? No, but then Jack was having
a difficult time remembering why he'd thought that a good idea as Will rocked
back against him, and apparently forth into the rug. So, a competition? Well,
all right, as Jack's hips seemed to be running away with him of a sudden.
Wonderful heat and chills and sensations he couldn't name shot through him,
building...Everything was oh, so very bright, and he might almost have been
back on the sea again...Will gave a long, wordless, shuddering moan and it
utterly undid him; Jack felt everything there was to feel in an instant,
then quite possibly nothing at all for a little while.

The world faded back in around the lovely man panting, facedown, beneath
him.  "Sorry about the rug..." Will murmured, yawning, and then, "I think
I may be sorry about the rug in a few minutes."

"Well, this day and age has wonderful remedies...I recommend the rum."
So saying, Jack disengaged, helping Will up at least as far as his knees
and scooping the bottle from its current rest by Byrd's...his...fireplace.
He took a long pull, then handed it to Will, who did likewise and passed
it back. Then, to Will's wondering stare, he set it aside.

"What? I'll be the first to admit a love of sloth, laziness, and all
assorted variations on that deadly sin, but this modern world has wonders
that I'd dearly love to experience first-hand. Still, be a love and shower
first, mm?"

Will rolled his eyes, and Jack realized he missed even that, although
he thought he might be seeing a lot of it in short order. As Turner headed
to the bathroom, Jack sank back on his haunches and reached for the rum again.

* * *

By the time a delectably damp Will emerged in light khaki cargo pants
and a long-sleeved grey shirt emblazoned with a serpentine dragon, Jack had
his host's computer up and humming.  "Not where I left you," Will observed,
leaning in to peer over his shoulder.

"Pity any really profitable tax fraud takes time," Jack said idly.

"So what illegalities *are* you pursuing?"

"Y'know me too well," Jack replied as Will clicked through the screens. 

"Monkey Island 5...Jack, is all this software you're downloading..."

"Pirated?" Jack smirked. "Who, me?"

"I know, I know, ask an incredibly stupid question..."

"I'll have you know as well that at least one of these screens is utterly 
innocuous..."

"I think I've found it..." And Will just stared. Jack understood the
impulse. The Web page described a particular Caribbean island resort.

"Visit La Isla de Muerta, a Westin resort...see caves in which, legend
tells, a pirate band hid cursed treasure..." Will trailed off, dumbfounded,
then..."Ah, Jack - then where's the..."

"Well, me will - that is to say, the instructions I left behind me,
not yourself - did specify the cursed thing be dumped in the deepest bit
of sea anyone could find, so hopefully, that's where. As to the rest of it?
That is a question, isn't it?" He let the contemplative mood remain until
he was done showering, then appreciated Will's long, warm gazes as he dressed.

First on...Jack's most flattering black jeans. A tight black undershirt
came next - logoed Calvin Klein, followed by a white long-sleeved shirt of
the same make, left unbuttoned. Attractive, simple...perhaps a bit too simple...he
rifled the other Jack's effects, coming up with several thin gold chains
and a gold weave belt. Alas, no earrings...he thumbed virgin ears and decided
that would have to be remedied.

Stepping back, he presented himself with a two-handed flourish, and
had the satisfaction of watching Will's gaze go from warm to smoldering.
The pirate smith stepped forward, all but pinning his captain against the
bedroom wall.

"You like it, then."

"I do."

"We may never leave the house."

"And that's bad?"

* * *

Half an hour later, they left the house, Jack with his usual sway, if
not for the usual reasons. On his way out the door, he grabbed a distressed
brown leather jacket and swung it around his shoulders. He seated himself
on the bike, Will falling in behind him, the lad's arms snaking around under
the coat.  "I've decided, I like motorcycles," Will murmured in his ear.
Jack grinned a crooked grin as he slid on his helmet.  As he gunned the motor,
he felt Byrd whisper...

//...this is going to be fun...but try not to do anything that'll get me killed 
or fired...//

//...ah, Jack...// he replied, //...you're forgetting one very important thing...//

//...no, you know, I'm really not...//

//...fair enough...//

Eventually they stopped for gas and Will asked him, "Jack, why are we
heading inland? I thought for sure you'd head toward the sea."

"Well, Will, the sea, she'll always be there. We have an understanding.
This was the other Jack's suggestion, actually, where we're going now." 
Sparrow shrugged. "He says it's the happiest place on Earth..."

* * *

When the two neared a certain Anaheim attraction, Will went for his
wallet, and Jack laid a hand on his arm. "We won't need to spend a cent."

"Why is that, exactly?"

An easy smile and a flicker of the eyelids guaranteed to make the lad
even more nervous...oh this *was* fun...Jack brandished a page from the local
newspaper and said, "Trust me."  And now Will's eyebrows were raised...very
good.  "Just come on."

The two stopped by Downtown D*sney, where Jack made a purchase that
he kept in a large, opaque plastic bag. When the park itself appeared, they
did not go in the front, but took a twisting back entrance, Jack having a
brief word or two with the guard. In a door they went, to a small lobby,
and were met by a man of average height and build. Jack began by presenting
his card.

"Jack Byrd, IRS." The man stiffened and Jack grinned. The other man returned 
the smile hesitantly.

"Relax," Jack continued. "I'm moonlighting. This is Human Resources, right?"

"Right..."

Jack then unrolled the paper, pointing to a circled item. "Says here
you're moving away from a full costume for Captain Hook, and you're auditioning
cast members..." Reaching into his bag, he removed two plastic swords. He
tossed one to William, who caught it, only slightly incredulous. "Will? Avast.
Oh, wait," Jack said, tossing the sword to his other hand and folding the
other arm. "One hand behind me back, of course." 

Heads popped up above cubicles to the weird hollow thunking, and stayed
up, staring, watching the men dance with unquestionable skill and grace.
At certain points, it was nearly erotic. "Footwork..."Jack murmured, and
the pace quickened. Jaws dropped.

When they paused, barely breathing hard, the office erupted in applause. 
"That," the man who'd met them said, "was completely insane!"

"I get that a lot."

"You're frigging amazing - I even think that accent you did could work, and 
you could pull off the look, no problem."

"You don't say."

"There's only one problem, though...I'm not hiring for Hook - that guy's
in tomorrow. See, it's even in the ad - Sunday through Thursday."

Slump to the shoulders, instant wounded gaze. Sigh. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah." The man put a comforting arm around Jack's shoulders. "But look,
I'll talk to him. You ought to come back. Meantime, why don't you and your
friend have a day at the park, on us. Walk around, see what you think about
working here. I'm assuming your job is more 9-5, so you'd be looking at 
weekends, right?"

* * *

"You really are a genius. And utterly mad."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"That's one word for it." But Will couldn't hide the bounce in his step
from Jack, who was willing to bet Will's other half knew this place well,
too. "It's a pity, you know."

"That I didn't get hired on?"

"No...that they won't remember this as the day they *almost* hired *Captain* 
Jack Sparrow."

"You know, whelp, I'd forgotten how irritating your little impressions could be."

"I think you mispronounced 'accurate,' Captain."

* * *

It was still morning at the park, if nominally, so the two went easily
through the fastest rides, multiple times - and the teacups. Jack did love
the teacups. But by and by the pirate began to notice something, and it gnawed
at him. Will was having so much fun that he held his tongue as long as possible,
but eventually....

"Ah, Will...this is great fun and I can see why me other half is so fond of it, 
but we have to leave."

"Why!?" Oh those eyes - as mournful as his best, and quite possibly
as artificial - that was the hell of it with Will; he projected earnestness,
whether he was in earnest or not.

"Well, y'see..." He sighed. "There's no alcohol. *Anywhere.*"

"That just isn't so." Jack's eyes widened hopefully. "Jack, I can't
believe that you knew enough to sneak us in via the back lot, but you didn't
know about the secret club in New Orleans Square."

"Interesting. Continue..."

"It's called Club 33...." Will searched his present self's drowsing
mind. "It's next to the Haunted Mansion. You have to know it's there, and
you have to have a membership, but they do have a bar." He smiled. "And Royal
Inc. has a membership. Thanks to Liz, I'm on the list."

"Oh, bless ye."

They came to the small, almost hidden door along the alleyway and were
buzzed in, Will flashing his I.D. Jack took the stairs two at a time.

"Rum and coke, please."

The waiter looked at him. "I hear you. Kids driving you nuts?"

Jack slid a grin Will's way. "Oh, you have no idea."

Will rolled his eyes. "Enjoy yourself. I'm off to Splash Mountain, back in an hour."

Sipping his rum and coke, a taste of present-day Jack's he found himself
thoroughly approving even if it did dilute the rum, Jack meandered to the
window, looking out on an art gallery and a rose garden.

"I'm surprised there's not a ride there too."

"There was going to be, I think," the waiter put in. "I guess they just never 
thought of anything that fit."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Jack drew his plastic sword.  "It's New Orleans 
Square! There ought to be pirates!"

"Um, yeah. Obvious."  The waiter paused. "Y'know, the Captain Hook auditions are 
tomorrow."

"So I've been told."

Even here, Jack was only able to get two drinks, and when the rum was
gone, so was he.  Still, of all the places to await Will's return, New Orleans
Square was likely the best. At least, it had the most expensive merchandise.
Drawing on modern Jack's near-supernatural ability to find video and audio
pickups, the good but very bad captain lightened the shops of select bright
and shiny objects.

The twenty-four karat Captain Hook charm he kept for himself. The Tinkerbell,
he rather thought he'd give to Elizabeth. The Peter Pan, of course, would
go to Will, which was so wrong on so many levels that Jack couldn't stop
smiling.

Still, no rum was no rum, and as soon as Will returned, they were out the gate.

* * *

"Where to now?" Will asked, leaning against him.

"Well, I thought we'd head somewhere that I can get a drink or three,
and get something done that me better half's been neglecting."

"So that means..."

"Off to the mall, and ye'll know better when we get there."

"I'm afraid I know better now, but I'm still going."

***

When they got there, Jack sighed as he slid off the bicycle, and stretched in the
noonday sun, watching Will do the same. "Feels good, doesn’t it? Just th' sun on
your face..."

This earned him a sharp look from Will.  "What?" he said.

"...it's nothing." Will gave him a soft smile. "Let's go."

The two wandered into a Red Robin, "No Sparrow, but close enough," and Jack
sampled two or three of the very interesting things they did with rum in that
establishment. The daiquiris, especially, intrigued him, and he decided that
while he'd had doubts, the modern practice of adding so many things to your rum
wasn't half bad at all. After all, it made it last longer, lingering on the
lips...and speaking of such...He leaned over and kissed Will soundly, watched the
man's eyes flutter closed. The bartender hooted and one of the barmaids clapped.
On the other hand, a small group of patrons in the corner leveled hateful glares,
and one of them even snarled.

Will's gaze to Jack was the same silent communication they'd always had, for now
calm, inquiring. Trouble? Jack just raised his eyebrows. Not hardly.

Then he met the eyes of everyone at that corner table, and held their gazes all
at once. He let the modern veneer of civilization fall away completely, until all
that was left was the pirate. Then he let all leave his pirate's eyes save the
killer that truly did lurk within Jack Sparrow. No humor nor smile about him
anywhere now, though madness there most definitely was. Above all, however, he
was Death.

A fork dropped, and at that metal sound, the corner booth emptied very quickly.

"Well, how 'bout that," Jack slurred.  "It worked." He turned back to the bar,
where the bartender regarded him with something like awe. "Now, can I try...let's
see...a Nuclear Iced Tea? Provided, of course, that there's rum in it."

"Oh yeah, there's rum," the bartender replied. "And since that was the most fun
I've had all week, it's on the house."

* * *

With Jack well lubricated and the world beginning to move properly and pleasantly
again, they meandered toward a jewelry store. Will, however, found a delay
outside a shop whose window advertised the best in ancient arms.  Jack followed
as the lad stopped to watch and listen.

A salesman held a blade aloft before a patron, a tall woman with short black
hair.  Jack caught snatches of conversation..."the finest Toledo steel...folded
sixty times by the finest craftsmen...can't let it go for less than..." 

Will's hands were twitching, and he was biting his lip.  Jack slid an arm about
his shoulder and murmured in his ear, "Oh, me lad, I can see it's killin' ye.
What're you waiting for?"

And that was all Will needed. He ambled into the store, Jack following behind.
Will leaned against the counter, next to the salesman. "Pardon me."

"If you wouldn't mind waiting, I'm afraid we're in the middle of a sale."

"What you're in the middle of, *I'm* afraid, is robbery, something with which I
assure you I have more than a passing familiarity.  Milady, I know swords, and I
need only look at this one to tell you that it's not worth a tenth of what this
man is charging."

"Really? I..."

"Now, look, I'm just..."

It really was a joy to watch Will work, Jack decided, as the younger man verbally
dissected the weapon with all his considerable expertise.

"...so, you see, if this blade was folded more times than your average paper
airplane, I would be exceedingly shocked."

"...If a comparably-priced sword *looked* at this one in a threatening manner, I
am fairly certain that it would shatter. You can plainly tell that..."

"...and if you can verify to me that this sword has been any nearer Toledo, Spain
than Toledo, Ohio, I will eat it!"

The woman was giggling openly by now, and the salesman was an interesting shade
of shell pink. "Look, okay, you made your point," he growled. He withdrew
something thin, pointed, and very shiny from a canister on his desk. "Now, this
is a letter opener. It's not the finest anything, but it's pretty, gold with a
pearl handle, and it's all yours if you promise to leave my store and Never.
Come. Back."

"Gold, you say?" Jack put in. "Can I have one?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He pulled out another and it vanished. He blinked. Jack
flipped it across his fingers and it vanished again. The salesman blinked again
and turned back to Will.

"Now. Leave? Never come back?"

Will smiled pleasantly. "We have an accord." He turned and followed Jack to the
exit.

"Hey, can I have one too?" the woman asked.

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

"Couldn't have done better meself," Jack murmured as they stepped through the
door.

"Thanks, I think."

* * *

On their way out, they paused at a mall directory to find that Jack's preferred
destination was directly above them. "It's just up the excavator. Enervator?
Incinerator? Calculat...no, that's not it...ah hell. Thing that goes up." He shot
Will a look. "Y'weren't much help, there."

"I can never tell when you're just doing it for effect."  Will paused.  "And,
escalator."

"Now he tells me."

Utilizing said conveyance, they were there in short order. The jewelry store was
roomy, with many glass cases and two piercing booths. It was toward one of the
latter that Jack sashayed. The booth he chose was operated by a svelte girl with
cropped red hair and piercings lining the entire edge of one ear, as well as
adorning her nose and eyebrow.

"Jack," Will murmured, "are you *sure?*"

"Well, they do say never go to a bald barber, and I'm fairly certain the same
principle applies."

"Not what I meant." Will looked at him seriously. "You aren't the only one that's
going to be living with this."

"I told ye, Will. He's been meaning to get around to this for ages. He knew what
was missing from his person, even if he didn't know the details. I'm sparing him
discomfort, especially since I've got a decent start on the day's drinking,
finally."

"...all right."

"So glad ye approve."

Jack grabbed the metal armrest on the far side of the chair, swinging himself up
and over the near to land squarely in the seat. The redhead eyed him with a smile
and a raised eyebrow.

"Both ears, love. At least, for starters." He winked.

"You got it, handsome." Her voice was a pleasant alto. "Stud?" 

"Well I don't like to flatter meself, but...ah." He ran a hand over the selection
of metal beads on black velvet, choosing one. Gold, naturally.

"Excellent. Let's get busy." She took his chin in one hand and swabbed his
earlobe with something cold. Then she sprayed on something that made it even
colder, practically numb. When she applied the gun to his ear, he felt barely a
pinch.

"That's *it?*"

"You men are such babies."

"Oh," he purred, "I'm no babe, lass."

"Beg to differ on the babe factor," she replied, showing just a bit of pierced
tongue in her smile. Swab, spray, pinch...done. "Now, treat it with alcohol twice
a day to prevent..."

The piercing gun dropped from her hands.

"Ah...prevent what, exactly?"

"Oh my god...robbery..."

"Well, I fail to see how that'll help, but...oh. Right."

As a matter of fact, a masked man was holding a gun on a cashier while another
was taking a saleswoman around to the bigger cases, weapon held at her neck. A
third trained his weapon on a group of customers. Will was not included, which
meant only one thing. The lad was obviously preparing to do something incredibly
stupid. Again.

A slow grin spread across his face and his eyes gleamed. It felt like Christmas
come early.

* * *

He should have *known,* dammit.

When the drunk-ass queer...no, that wasn't fair. Guy'd done right by him in the
end.  When the drunk-ass...gay guy...had sidled up to T.J. and put an arm around
his shoulders, he should have known that things were going to go straight to hell.

"Y'know, you're going about this all wrong."

"What? Didn't I accessorize properly?" He gestured with his gun. "And by the way,
get over there with the other customers and shut up. I will shoot you."

"Now, I know ye don't want t' shoot anyone - y'obviously planned th' whole thing
so's you'd be missed by mall security, and a gunshot...well, y'can't get much
more obvious, can ye?"

"Right. On the other hand, this gun isn't just for decoration. Unless you're
feeling stupid," and for some reason, this made the guy smile wider, which was
when he *really* should have known, "get over there. Now!"

"But the thing is, you're holding the gun wrong. Nobody *really* holds a gun
sideways outside the movies. It's just gonna jam, y'see, you really ought to hold
it like ..."

And just like that, the man had T.J.'s gun and was pointing it at his head.
"...this."

That was about when Rick decided to cut his losses. He began to edge to the door.
Let Nico get into a John Woo standoff, gun trained on the weirdo while said
Calvin Klein model had his trained on T.J.. Hell with it. Rick had the loot and
the boys could look him up in ten to fifteen. 

"And what'd you get out of shootin' me at this point? Seein' as your friend there
is making off with all your ill-gotten gains, murder without any gain attached
would be *incredibly stupid.*"

So like a moron, Nico turned to look, and that was when what Rick assumed was a
letter-opener embedded itself in his gun hand. Nico screamed and dropped his gun,
folding over his hand like a punk-ass bitch, and Rick figured the best course of
action would be to chuck his own gun into his bag and run for the car. If the car
was still there.

Heading out into the mall proper, he heard footsteps behind him, wondering who'd
be dumb enough to chase a man they knew was armed, and then deciding he was
pretty sure he knew. Of course, like another moron, he couldn't help looking back
as he ran down the escalator, only to find a kid in a grey shirt on his heels.
This meant, naturally, that he wasn't looking where he was going.

So when Calvin Klein swung out on a steel construction cable, he caught Rick with
two feet in his chest and landed with an elbow at his neck.

Rick could only beg, something he'd never been too proud to do. "C'mon, man.
Lemme get out of here. It's my third strike! They're gonna throw away the key."

And he listened, thank God.  "...All right, then. Y'were just keepin' to the
code, after all. I can't stand to see a man spend the rest of his days in a cage.
Look, grab a handful of your swag and get out of here. Give me a good shove, and
I'll say y'overpowered me. Least I can do for one o' the brethren."

"Thanks, but you know, I'm really not that w-" Rick felt a lessening of the
pressure at his neck. "Oh, the hell with it!" He gave Calvin a huge shove,
grabbed a miscellaneous assortment of jewelry, and took off.

Later, at home watching the news, he spat out his beer when he read the caption
beneath the man's picture.  

"Holy...the I.R.S.!?"  When his girlfriend came over and thumped him on the back,
he sputtered a moment and then said, consideringly, "Well, momma always said
they'd catch up to me someday."

* * *

"You let him get away," Will pointed out, matter-of-fact.

"Of course, love.  Someone had to get away, and I liked him. Reminded me of me, a
little. And anyway, Byrd asked I not get him arrested. Well, killed or fired
really, but close enough. So there had to be someone to blame for *all* what went
missin', savvy?"  They meandered back upstairs to where mall security had finally
arrived on the scene.

"Aye. Pretty much what I thought, at any rate."

"No lacking for wit, me Will. Nor aim."

"They're going to keep my letter-opener as evidence, though."

"Y'can have me own. I've already been well-compensated."

The two wandered back into the store, where security had a hold of the other two
culprits, and had removed their weapons from the cashier and piercing specialist
who'd taken them up and trained them on the crooks. The svelte redhead was
grinning. "My hero," she said to Jack.

Still, she seemed a bit shocked when he pulled her into a deep, dipping kiss. Not
so surprised that her eyes didn't roll back for a second there, he noticed with a
satisfied smile into her mouth.

When they broke apart, she said "But, I thought you were..." Her hands swiveled
on her wrist in fair imitation of his habitual gestures.

"What I am, love, is flexible. *Very* flexible, if ye take my meaning." Palming
one of Byrd's business cards, he tucked it into her jeans pocket. "Call me."

"I might just," she replied. "Maybe you'll let me punch holes in some more
interesting places."

"Ah, on second thought..."

* * *

"So, where to now?" Will chewed on a gigantic cinnamon roll.

"I think me ocean's waited long enough," Jack replied, teeth tearing at a
pretzel. "Time for some piracy, and then debauchery, or vice versa the vices." He
swallowed, then waited until Will took another bite. Grabbing the lad's head, he
pulled him in for a long kiss, swiping the cinnamon roll for his own.

"Mmf-was eating!"

"Obviously. And in this case, I wanted to be eating what ye were eating, if
that's what's eating you." He grinned. "Sweet. I liked that." Light caught in his
dilated eyes as he watched his William. "Aren't they amazing? The tastes, sights,
and sounds of this world, after sleeping so long? 'Tis a bit hard and flat, true,
but ye can feel the land straining beneath her fine new clothes. And the sea..."
Jack stared directly at the sun as it fell so gradually through the sky. "The sea
is the same as ever."

Sometime during this soliquily, Will's eyes had taken on a haunted look. It'd do
no good to call the lad on it again, Jack knew, as he'd just deny it. When the
boy was ready, he'd talk. Jack had a vague memory that he'd once won him with
uncommon patience, and he'd needed the same in his dealings with Will ever since.

Of course, when he pulled himself out of his own contemplations, the man had
swiped his pretzel and finished it. Jack eyed his empty hand with eyes gone large
and sad. Will shrugged and smiled, and inwardly Jack brightened to see his good
humor return.

"What can I say but that you taught me well. Or ill, as the case may be."

"So for well or ill, or hopefully both, let's get going." Back on the bike with a
hop, he gunned the motor 'till he felt arms tighten 'round his chest, the mere
squeal of tires and a bit of rubber left in his wake.

***

Not much later, both sat in a seaside hotel bar, enjoying afternoon
cocktails. Will was letting himself get just a bit tipsy, Jack observed happily.
He recalled Will getting truly drunk to be rare, the boy always meaning to
be Jack's own sober complement, and anyway for some reason those Turner wits
appeared to work better dry, something Jack had never quite been able to
figure. Still, with just a little lubrication, it was easier to talk young
William into Jack's idea of fun.

Thus, while appearing merely two men in love, appreciating large seafront
bay windows and a basket of fried shellfish, they cased the hotel's complement
of cigarette boats meant for showing the tourists some speed. Then, arm in
arm, they strolled along the docks, eventually disappearing from view. No
one connected them to the boat that slipped its lines and began to drift
ever so slowly away. No one noticed that boat much at all, in fact, 'till
its motor gunned and it took off like a rocket.

Nobody pursued it, either. They were hotel security, not cops, and not
up for any sort of chase. Anyway, that was what the homing device was for.

* * *

Jack let go a wild whoop as he sped across the water. Incredible...this
was incredible, amazing...such speed and it was even better with the lad
clinging to him for dear life.

"Jack! Are you sure you know how to steer this thing!?"

"Well, not exactly..."

"So it's Byrd, then?"

"Well, not exactly..."

"What!?"

"Just havin' some fun with ye. It's not at all hard to figure. Now,
I know a little place..." Drawn from Byrd's memories of surfing all up and
down this coast, of course, though said worthy was snoozing again in the
back of Jack's mind.  A cove and a cave, small, barely room for the boat
and to stand. They cruised in far too quickly and stopped just short of 
colliding with a jagged rock.

Jack stood and felt everything reel just perfectly. He corrected himself
right into Will, who was trying to stand as well, and brought him to land
on his knees. Blood sang in his ears. His heart throbbed in sympathy with
other places dear to it.

He saw his own intent, serious gaze in the beautiful boy's eyes and
smiled, knowing the grin for the predator's leer it was. "Jack, is everything
all...mmMmph!" A handful of breaths taken together and those eyes slid out
of focus. "...suppose that's a yes..." Will murmured, then actually squeaked
as Jack tackled him and bore him down.

Tongue met tongue, slid, pulled, sucked in, tasted sea salt drawn from
spray-stung lips. He took the time to catch a lip in his teeth and pause,
near motionless, his eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.  Wait for it...wait
for it...Will's eyes filled with exasperation and need in equal measure.
Perfect. Now, soon, yes...a quick violent motion and the younger man was
on top and unzipping his jeans for him. Lovely. He assisted, shimmying out
of the overshirt, beginning to pull the black t-shirt off. Will caught his
wrists.

"Leave it on."

Jack smiled, shrugged, and relaxed against the hull. Who was he to question,
save the lad's captain, but just so..."ship is yours, mate," he murmured.

"Mm? Ah..." and Will took the cue, undoing and removing loose khaki
pants. The grey shirt stayed on, too. Will's warmth on his front, the cold
boat against his behind...the sensation made him squirm and his hips twitched
just a bit. Jack shivered, and it seemed that Will liked that a great deal,
as he claimed Jack's mouth in another searching kiss.

"Do that again," the lad whispered in his ear, and then blew softly.
Jack shuddered obligingly, giving his whole body to the tremor. In his mind,
Byrd murmured sleepily //...yes, oh...// and subsided.  Then Will was at
his neck. Teeth, tongue, suction on skin and Jack was being boarded, knees
up and wide, one hand below and the other between. Will had found something
in a pocket somewhere, applied it with one finger, then two, then three,
spreading, crooking, searching 'till Jack could only groan loud and mumble
low in a language he hardly recognized, but thought might be French.

The boat rocked and Jack rocked and shuddered again under his Will's
weight and dexterity. The boy was sweating now, realized it, and the grey
shirt came off. Just a thin layer of cloth between their chests, and between
their hips...nothing. Fingers pulled away, he made a moaning animal sound
then pressed up and back against the length that of a sudden filled him,
impaling himself with his fiercest smile. He rocked harder, intent on driving
his William to utter madness.

Oh, and it was working - Will's eyes unfocused, his hips running away
with him and down into Jack - hot pressure against cold metal...and then
Will came back to himself with a wild grin echoing Jack's own, and his hips
slowed...rolled...*twisted...* oh, Jack had forgotten that the boy could
*do* that, and then he did it again and again and...oh, hell, who was supposed
to be the madman here anyway...all was sensation and abandon and he was coming,
coming hot and hard against skin and a thin black shirt, moaning at that
feeling and at the moist heat that filled him an instant later.

A panting sigh, and Jack's hands tangled in chestnut curls as the men
took a long, languid taste of one another. With slight concern, Jack noticed
a tear in Will's eye - this phenomenon was rare, a sign of the world rushing
back to the lad after mindless pleasure, and was seen only when William had
a great deal on his mind. Same issue as earlier, Jack assumed, and pretended
he'd not seen it, as the truth would out in time. Will withdrew, slow bittersweet
loss, and Jack stripped out of the temporarily ruined tee that they might
towel off. It was as he began to lever himself up that he saw the blinking
red light.

"Ah, Will, I daresay me memories of this modern world are clearer in
me mind than the Caribbean of old, but would y' mind confirming what that
is, love?"

Will squinted.  "Homing device." He glanced involuntarily at the cave mouth. 
"They LoJacked the boat!"

Jack sighed. "Well, seems only fair. Jack hijacks, they LoJack." He
took an instant to rinse the black tee in saltwater and twist it out, and
then skinned back into the jeans and the white shirt, half-open over his
tanned chest and chains. Will was already dressed and waiting for him on
the rocks when he hopped out of the boat, checking his jeans pockets for
all his ill-gotten gains.

Satisfied, he tipped an imaginary hat to the fast little lass. "Milady,
I'm sorry, but if ye haven't the decency to stay stolen, it'll never work
between us. Farewell." Crouching, they emerged from the cave and Jack led
them up the beach access trail to the highway. A convertible was parked nearby,
top down, the owners off somewhere surfing, fishing, or the like, and a good
thing too. When the police came by half a minute later, they did not look
too closely at the couple making out in the car save to note with mild interest
that they were both men. They were after a stolen boat, and these two obviously
had another conveyance.

As it turned out, the actual conveyance was a cab from the local convenience
store back to Jack's bike. They slid onto the black and chrome, and Will
turned a questioning look upon him.

"Why," Jack replied, "wenching, of course!"

* * *

A stop at an ATM later, change made by a very helpful bartender, they
were seated at a table near a glossy black runway. Will had a mug of some
dark brew, and Jack was drinking something called a Zombie. Appropriately
named, he thought, and something the late unlamented Barbossa would appreciate,
as after half of it Jack could not feel his fingertips.

The strumpet who spent the most time about, or atop, their persons was
also glossy and black, with tea-colored braids brushing the small of her
back. Will bought her a drink - not the overpriced champagne that lurked
at every other table, but a mug of beer, which she downed with a grateful
grin.

"I hate champagne," the stripper confided, as Jack stuffed a five in
her waistband, waist being quite relative with regards to the bikini that
was more of a suggestion than an article of clothing. She rewarded him with
a gyration and a teasing pull at her bottoms that revealed a thong hiding
beneath.

"More clothes, lass? Where d'you hide 'em all?"

"You wanna find out, it's all about the tipping, gorgeous." In the background,
AC/DC blared, "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap." "Where you from, anyway? No,
lemme guess - I'm good with accents."

"Ye'll not place this one, love," Jack replied, grinning as a man at
the next table slipped a twenty in the straps of her high heels, and she
made a shooing motion with her hand, not turning to look.

"Wait, handsome, almost got it..." She stretched, did a back-bend that
ended up with her shoe on Will's shoulder. Jack heard him gulp and his smile
widened. "Got it! Bahamas, right?"

Jack stared. "That's...actually very close."

"Told ye, love," she mimicked, near-perfectly. Her leg did an improbable
swing over both their heads and back behind her, tipping her forward to expose
her bosom. Jack placed a twenty in that heaven, and the bikini bottoms came
off.

Jack felt the tenseness in Will's thigh, right up against his. They
*were* very near Will's apartment at this point....Time to leave this wonderful
establishment, but definitely a place to mark. The wench saw them getting
up and sighed theatrically. 

"Pity I'm here another three hours. You got a phone number, beautiful?"

Jack wrapped a twenty about another of Byrd's business cards and hid
it well enough that he had to wait for the bouncer to look away. "Call me,
m'dear." 

The stripper chuckled and gave light kisses both to Jack and a blushing,
*very* tense Will. "You got it, baby. And you ask for me any time. I'm Honey."

"I do wonder if you're as sweet as your name."

"Don't you know by now, cutie?"

"Oh, not yet," he said, licking his lips and watching, satisfied, as
her eyes grew smoky. He tipped his imaginary hat once more. "'Till we meet
again."

* * *

//Oh, wow,// Honey thought, as she watched the couple leave. //Now that
was rare as anything, and damn were they amazing. I'm gonna have to tell
my sisters all about this one.// 

She might even be able to top Annie Mae's stories about her hot gay boss, for once.

* * *

Up the elevator to Will's apartment they shared only light touches and
heated breath, Jack prolonging the boy's agony, alas, but it would be worth
it. Jack fingered the buttons on his shirt, but did not undo them, all for
Will's benefit. Will looked away, fixedly, as he opened the door. Iron control,
but Jack had no lack of confidence in himself for breaking it. He lifted
a lighter from a tray and lit one candle only, near the black leather couch.
Then he turned to his Will...

Who stretched out an arm and placed it flat against his chest. "Jack, no."

"No? Really, now? You seem very interested..." Jack stepped closer and
Will's breath hitched, his arm bowed so slightly...then firmed again and
Jack stopped.

"I am. But we cannot."

"Since *when!?*"

Will put his arm down. "Tell me, Jack, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Larceny and debauchery, of course. Pirate, as you recall."

"And the next day?"

"More of the same, I suppose - hadn't really thought that far ahead.
Though there's something about the day after that nags at me a bit."

"Aye." Will's face had that serious set that never meant anything good.
Occasionally, in fact, it meant getting clocked with an oar.

"And?"

"The day after, Will and Jack must be at work."

"I'd have come to that in a bit."

"Perhaps." Will turned, paced away, and back again. "Jack, this is dangerous. 
We must call them back, and now."

"Ah, me Will, what's the harm in one more day, in waking in each others' arms 
again..."

"Jack, there is too much temptation in this."

"Now, that was always your problem - the best part of temptation's in
the yielding to it..." Jack reached out to brush Will's cheek with his fingertips.
Will's eyes closed and he shivered, sighed. He caught Jack's hand against
his face and ran his fingers across it. Then he let it go.

"You said it yourself, in that cave. Their memories are clearer than
our own. It would be easy...so easy to live as these men, only changing small
bits to suit - jobs, friends, location..."

"I would not..." And yet, was he in fact certain? He was Captain Jack
Sparrow, and there was very little that he would not do, to get what he wanted.
Though it truly seemed he only wanted one day more...just the weekend, when
no one would miss...

"We must give these borrowed bodies back before we come to like this
too well," Will said softly. "This has to end, Jack, at least for now. We're
enjoying it too much, and they...I don't know that they're even truly aware.
They seem so much farther away than we were."

"And is it wrong, then, to wish for just one more day to enjoy the feel
of you on my skin, the taste of you on my lips, my own lips?" 

"There. That is what's wrong. We're losing ourselves in sensation, we have been 
all this day."

"Pirates, lad, pirates. We're all about sensation, and taking what we can, when we 
can get it - don't ye *remember?*"

"But to go on about feeling, touching and tasting...do you know who you sound like, 
Jack?"

No...oh, no...

"They've been drowsing, half-asleep, and I must wonder, are we keeping
them thus? We can't commandeer their lives, Jack. We feel alive, seem to
be men, but we are uncanny things."

Everything was shifting, turning on its axis. The horror rose in him
and he longed for his ocean...And Jack Byrd was oh, so quiet and peaceful.
If he were trapped, would he know it, this other half of his who had given
him such a gift...

"Would you become a ghoul, lusting after what belongs to the living
by right?" Will continued, and turned, picked something up, tossed it at
him. Jack caught it without thinking, then stopped and stared.

It was an apple, of course.

A terrible sadness rose above his head and he was drowning...could it
be true? Could he no longer trust himself? And if he could no longer trust
himself, then whom could he trust?

The answer was right in front of him, and always had been.

Will.

//...farewell...//

//...JACK! No, don't go...//

Jack Byrd came fully aware with a long, wheezing gasp. He grabbed the man 
in front of him by the collar.  

"He's gone! Goddamn it, Turner, what did you do?! I can't feel him anymore! 
What the hell did you do?!"

Regret darkened the other man's eyes.  "What I had to..." and then his
face changed, and a stricken Will Smith looked out of it.  "Oh, God, Jack,
I'm so sorry...I should have shut him up...I should have stopped him but
I couldn't... Oh, God..."

Jack let go and sank to the black couch, hands covering his face. "I can't feel him.
I can't feel him at all. He's gone."

***

The shivering began not long afterward, but it wasn't the most troubling
thing. At least, it was a sign of life from Jack, who once he'd lifted his
head, had stared straight into Will's gas fireplace, though it was cold and
had been for months.

His eyes were what troubled Will the most. They were flat, black discs.
His face, usually mobile and alight, was a mask, and was so very pale under
his surfer's tan. When he shivered, slightly, they closed, and then focused
briefly on Will Smith when the younger man slid a blanket about his shoulders.

"Thanks," Jack whispered.  Will slid next to him on the couch and drew
him in, leaning that dark head on his shoulder. Utterly pliant, Jack sank
into the half-embrace. For two hours, they did not move, and then Will said,
"Let's get you home."

Will parked the bike and walked Jack inside, then put him to bed, stripping
and climbing in after. He curled around Jack, lending him warmth. Once, he
looked up and found his face reflected in Jack's computer monitor. When he
saw Turner in himself, he caught his arm just before destroying a costly
bit of equipment.

* * *

"I'm so tired," Jack murmured in the middle of the night, "but I can't sleep. 
Isn't that weird? And you know what else?"

"Hmm?" Will inquired softly, stroking Jack's hair.

"I'm stone cold sober. How wrong is that?" A hollow chuckle. "Actually, I think 
I'm more sober than I've ever been in my life."

They made love, late that night or early that morning, very quietly
and all mouths and hands. Jack's face lost that frightening blankness, but
only for the barest instant, and then it returned.

Neither before, nor after the lovemaking did either of them sleep. Jack
could not ever remember feeling so numb, nor Will ever so angry.

* * *

Liz Swan slept late that morning, dreaming old, old dreams. It seemed
she heard the child she had never been, singing from a great distance. She
felt wind in her ears, then that pulled back as well, and she knew it as
a flag rippling in a gale.

When she woke, it was with a deep breath, and the image of the Jolly Roger 
large in her mind.

"Hon?" murmured Greg, sleepily.

"Just a dream," she said, but she knew what the flag meant.

It was, without fail, a message and a warning.

"Baby," she said, "I need to go somewhere, okay?"

"'Kay," he replied. He kissed her, stretched, and then fell back into
a light sleep. Liz slid out of bed and headed for the shower. Elizabeth,
there in the back of her mind, murmured approval.

They knew not what, but somewhere, something was wrong.

* * *

Sunday dawned grey, a coastal haze obscuring the blue. Eventually, Jack
slid out of bed, managing a smile for a worried-looking Will. "I'm fine,"
he said, in a voice that was entirely too even.

In truth, though, the world seemed wrapped in a blanket. Sights, sounds,
all were muffled. Jack wondered if this was how everyone else saw the world
every day. //Guess I always did have a little bit of the Captain in me,//
he thought, and it seemed to resound inside his own head like a shout in
an empty room. Then he chuckled again, and that sounded wrong too.

In the shower, he turned up the heat 'till it was nearly scalding, and
that helped a bit. He sat on the bench seat built into his corner tub, letting
the water run over his head for a full five minutes. Then he pulled himself
up. He began to hum that old, old song of Elizabeth's and stopped, as it
made him sad. He couldn't really remember the words now, anyway.

Jack dried himself off, including his eyes. Especially his eyes. Then
he pulled on a pair of sweats and realized that he had work he really should
be doing.  He unfolded his work laptop on the kitchen table and began, going
over forms and figures, losing himself in numbers. At some point, perhaps
an hour later, perhaps two, Will padded out of the bedroom - looked like
the kid had finally gotten an hour or two of sleep, Jack hoped. Will passed
a mug of coffee over, and Jack smiled gratefully.

"How are you?" Will asked.

"...Normal, I guess. I don't think I ever knew what that felt like." He took a 
sip of coffee. "You?"

"...Okay."  Will sipped his own drink, then said, "We're both lying, aren't we?"

"No." Will frowned at that. "No, I really do feel normal," Jack replied.
"And normal feels wrong. I hate it, Will. I hate it and I want it to go away."
His next breath was just a bit more ragged. "And there's this void in me.
I don't want to think about it too hard, or look at it, at all, but I know
it's there."

"I know what you mean," Will said, and Jack looked up with surprise.
"They've been with us all our lives, there in the background, and now..."

"But...Turner..."

"*Turner,* Will growled, "doesn't get to come back. He doesn't get to fucking 
*exist,* until Sparrow's back with you."

"Don't you mean, unless?" And Jack wondered if his eyes looked as barren as he 
felt.

"Until." And Jack thought through memories gone fuzzy and indistinct
that it would be a bad idea to tell Will the implacability in his voice was
very Turner, after all. But his movements... Will tripped a little as he
moved to the counter, setting his mug down a bit too hard. "Oh, fucking...ah,
sorry."

"No harm, no foul," Jack replied. "You know, I think I'd like to get a fire going. 
This morning's a little bit cool."

They moved to the living room, Jack's laptop forgotten.  Will opened
the blinds, letting light filter in through the blue-green eucalyptus outside.
Jack, meanwhile, went to move the half-empty rum away from the fireplace.
When he reached for it, his hand shook, and he felt a need for the stuff
that scared him. He let Will lift the bottle away instead.  

The fire warmed the morning just a bit, but Jack still found it to be
too quiet. He went to the stereo and turned it on low, with CDs rotating
through. He heard Gavin sing softly, quiet melancholy.

"...I'm never alone; I'm alone all the time. Are you at one or do you lie..."

Will yawned. Jack wondered if he could finally sleep now, himself. He
worried, though, that he'd sleep too long. Waking had been a twisting, jarring
thing, this last time.

"...I needed you more when we wanted us less, I could not kiss, just regress.

It might just be clear, simple and plain. That's just fine, that's just one of 
my names...."

"Shh," Will said. "I'll wake you in two hours, I promise."

And how could he not trust Will? 

"...Don't let the days go by.... Could have been easier on you; I couldn't
change though I wanted to. Should have been easier by three; our old friend
fear and you and me..."

* * *

Will did wake Jack, exactly when he'd said he would, and Jack felt a
stab of guilt, as Will didn't look like he'd slept after all. Looking outside
upon the tree shadows, Jack noticed morning threatening to become afternoon.
He wandered to the refrigerator, grabbed a plastic bottle of juice, and meandered
back to the fireside couch. The fire crackled low, and he scooted closer
to the embers.

At length, he asked Will, "So. What's the plan?"

"Well," the kid said, slowly, "we want Sparrow back with you, right? That's the 
goal."

"Right. Sparrow and Turner."

"Let's leave Turner out of this for now. The first question is whether
or not we ought to enlist some help. We've got two options here: Dr. Schuyler,
if she's in, and the only other person who knows what's going on, Liz."

"Not Dr. Schuyler," Jack said. "If Jack's still..." he trailed off, lost.

"He's reachable. *Believe it.* The Captain's out there. We just have to find him." 
Will leaned forward, eyes bright.

"Right." Flat, hollow...Jack was starting to dislike the sound of his
own voice. "Anyway, no doc. I think...Jack would rebel at that kind of control.
It happened the last time, after all."

"Okay, that leaves Liz. And, I think calling her is kind of academic at this point, 
seeing as she's coming up the driveway."

* * *

Liz reached up to knock, and the door opened, Will beyond.

"What's wrong?" she said. "You've got raccoon-sized circles under your eyes."

"Y'know," he replied, ushering her in, "we didn't sleep at all the night they 
woke up? But I don't think we looked this shitty."

Liz blinked. Within...//...Will never used such language...something
*is* wrong...//. And Will Smith swore only rarely. There was something...off,
about the way he moved, too. He was almost clumsy, when he'd moved with a
gliding grace since the day she'd met him.

She walked inside and saw the other half of the problem. Jack looked
up, and his eyes...anyone who did not know him would notice nothing amiss.
Liz, though...she knew what to look for, the echoes of emotion that those
flat discs did not stir within her. Fire, passion, danger; all were gone.
Oh.... Liz clutched at Elizabeth and felt an inner clasping returned.

Jack Sparrow, somehow, was gone.

"Hey, Liz," Jack said. "Come on in, sit down."

Liz crouched on her heels before him and asked only one question. "How?"

She heard what she assumed was the abbreviated version, and stopped Jack when 
she heard his voice hitch, as she knew enough.

"I agree that you don't want to go back to that woman; I don't think
she'll be a lot of help.  I have an idea, but I don't know how safe it is."

"You know," Jack replied, laughing slightly, and the sound scared her just 
a little, "I don't think I care."

"We go to the beach. There are two things that are always about Jack
Sparrow; rum and the sea." Liz felt Elizabeth behind her words, heard the
accent in some.  "So, we go to the beach, and we drink rum until we puke.
Or maybe you do - one of us better be sober."

"I think you're right. And, I think it should be you, too, because..."
She could see him searching for the words. "Don't take this wrong, please.
You're a good friend. But having you here, now, hearing Elizabeth in you...you're
*whole,* and I can sense it, somehow, and it hurts. God, I'm sorry, but it
really hurts."

And hearing that hurt her, but she understood. "Will...you, too?"

He didn't answer. It was all the answer she needed. She walked over to Will and 
embraced him.

"It's all right. I'll follow you, and look in from time to time. I...we...will
be watching over you, as always." She smiled for them both, and wiped a tear
from the corner of Will's eye.

* * *

Will wrapped himself around Jack, who pulled their large blanket tight.
The calm grey of the day was giving way to a violently windy sunset that
streaked orange clouds across the sky. Sand lifted and settled, and Will
lifted the bottle to his lips. He passed it back, and watched Jack take a
very long drink.

"Y'know, I wanted to drink rum this morning," Jack slurred, a weird
sound with modern accents. "I wanted it so bad I didn't touch the bottle.
We doin' the right thing, y' think?"

"We...we've got to trust ourselves..." That sounded awfully profound,
Will thought. Awfully wrong and awfully right, too, at the same time.

"Do you trust yourself?" Jack asked, drunkenly serious. He took another drink.

"Guess it depends which self we're talking about." Will grabbed the bottle back.

"Don' think he meant...y'know. All this..."

"I dunno, anymore. 'S amazing, though. You and me, we're just you and
me, and we're this tight after a week. Thank God we didn't lose that too."

"When it's real, it's real, y'know?" Jack drank more, then turned and
kissed Will sloppily. He returned the kiss in the same fashion.

"Y'wanna stand up and watch the sun set?" Jack asked at length. They
tried, twice, and then decided to forget standing. At this point, they could
barely crawl. They traded rum-soaked kisses full of need and desperation,
and then Jack turned to the horizon and stared at the disappearing sun from
the sandy ground.

"'S a ship...I see a ship...'s beautiful..." He reached out a hand as if to 
touch it, and then collapsed facedown.

Will couldn't see it, but then, he couldn't see much anymore. There
came a roaring in his ears and he felt very warm. Everything went strange,
and then went black.

***

"Wake up, Jack."

A voice in his ear. A slurring whisper. He knew that voice.

"Up, c'mon, now. Open your eyes."

Jack Byrd opened his eyes and found that to his surprise, he was standing. He
took a step to catch his balance and flailed, just a bit. The ground moved.

"You know her rhythm. Let yourself remember."

He stood alone on the deck of a sailing ship. The sun was so bright it hurt his
eyes, but they slowly began to adjust. His eyes roamed the deck first, then the
rails, the masts, the rigging...

It was the most beautiful thing in the world, and so he knew where he must be.

"The Black Pearl," he whispered. He felt a tear track down one cheek.

"Aye, the Pearl. Lovely strumpet, eh?" The voice no longer whispered, and it was
right in his ear. He whirled, to face...himself...

And not himself. Long, matted strands of hair, beads and coins chiming, a red
bandanna and a brown leather hat. The ubiquitous kohl.

"Jack Sparrow."

"Oh, y' wound me. You of *all* people should know better."

"I of all people should be able to leave the 'Captain' off."

"...You might be right, at that."

"How are we here?" Byrd asked, turning slowly, taking it - her - all in. "This
isn't just a dream."

"Oh, concerning the Pearl, nothing's *just* anything. It is a dream, and it
isn't."

"That's what I just said."

"And just what I said. And now that we're clear on what we've said to each other,
or ourselves, or ourself as the case may be..."

"Am I this annoying to listen to?"

"Only when you're in top form. Otherwise you can only aspire."

"I aspire to additional information as to the intent of this assignation." 
Sparrow grinned in response. Byrd let out a breath, and it issued forth with a
bit more anguish than he intended. His other self heard, or felt, and stiffened.
"You've been gone all day, Jack!  Where did you go?!"

"Isn't it obvious, then, mate?" The smile on his face was pained as he doffed his
cap and swept it out to indicate the blue expanse. "I went sailing. You came to
the right place to find me, though, as it happens."

"Sailing..." Byrd looked down, shaking his head. His eye caught a star-shaped
whorl on the deck planking that he instinctively knew would be there.  The
swirling grain drew him in and he shook his head slowly. "Everything was so cold
and pale and...modern. And so was I.  It was...it was all so flat..." But the
smooth, weathered wood beneath his palm distracted him. His eyes slid shut, and
he caressed the carved railing like a lover.  "Oh, my. Oh, I can't stay mad here,
Jack."

"Whereas I could fairly well stay mad everywhere. But I thought you might feel
that way. I wanted to give you this. We're here that I might ...ap...apol..." He
shushed Byrd with a twisting wave of his hand. "No, I know the word, I just don't
do it very often. We're here that I might apologize."

In a rambling skip-hop, he was back at Byrd's side, this time wrapping an arm
about his doppelganger's shoulders. There was scent here, Byrd realized, and Jack
Sparrow's was all rum and ocean. "I thought," the pirate went on, "that Barbossa
had gone and learned me lesson for me, as far as greed goes. But it seems I've
still the ability to take what isn't mine, in any amount."

"What isn't...God, Jack, I'm meant to have you within me. I never have been
entirely a part of this modern world. There wasn't a thing you did that I
didn't...or wouldn't..."

Jack Sparrow shook his head. "One of me gifts, mate. They always think it's their
idea. Except, occasionally, for Bootstrap, and more rarely, his whelp." He turned
his head so that he looked his other self directly in the eyes, perhaps an inch
away. "If you'd grown tired of waiting, before Will made his point, or if you'd
fought me for any reason, I can't say that I know what would have happened. It
may be that you'd have had a devil of a time getting me to let go. And that's not
to mention me trapping you in slumber, all unwitting, which I may in fact have
done."

"I have to say," Byrd replied slowly, "that one of the disadvantages of being
such a wonderfully convoluted speaker is that you sometimes begin to believe your
own lines of crap. Yes, I'm utterly seduced by you. But you forget that somewhere
deep down, I know what you know and you know what I know. And I know that you're
neither a ghoul nor a demon. I know if you'd truly felt me in pain...and believe
me, I'd have woken in pain if I'd missed the chance to take other folks' money,
*legally...* " Here Byrd smiled, his own slightly cracked grin. "...it wouldn't
have been fun anymore.  And I know that that's what you ran from today. You ran
from the pain of pulling back too far, which you caused the same way, for your
fear.  No man, not me nor you, should be so far from the rest of his soul."

"Ah. You know, as you figured that out, so did I?" The deep eyes were serious. "I
did not mean to run so far, nor cause either of us such pain. You know that, do
ye not, and why we had to come here."

"Oh, aye," Byrd said, voice beginning to match Sparrow's cadence.  "This heals
us. As the Pearl's a part of our soul, no less than you or I."

He phased modern again in an instant. "You have to know, though, that I don't
begrudge you anything. You and Will Turner awakening brought magic to my life.
It's true that a pirate can't live in this world, but he can play in it.  You can
use me. Believe me, I'll have fun too."

"Really?" And Jack Byrd began to distrust that wide-eyed grin, as Sparrow wrapped
another arm about him and brought him close.

He was right to, of course.  "Use you, he says." 

Then Jack Byrd was being kissed quite soundly by his pirate other. His eyes
widened with surprise as Sparrow's widened even further with glee.  He felt
himself responding, reverberating like a plucked guitar string. When they broke
apart, he gasped, "Okay, this is weird. Even for me."

"It's enough of a dream that anything can happen. Isn't that the best thing about
dreams?" And deft weathered fingers shed his suit, while his hands had minds of
their own, undoing buckles, buttons, and belts.

When they sank, naked, to the sun-drenched deck of the Black Pearl, Byrd
murmured, "...this is such an Austin Powers moment..."

"Well," Jack replied, between kisses applied to collarbones, "It *isn't* actually
cheating..."  Byrd had never been on the receiving end of that next
nipple-scraping kiss, and it made him hiss with need. 

"I knew there was a reason I always did that. And this..." "This" made Sparrow
moan.

"Ah. You know, I think we really need to finish my apology."

"Why do I think your apology is going to be as much fun for you as it is for me?"

"Because you're a wise man what knows himself." There was a kiss then that seemed
to involve both their bodies entirely, stiffening, pressing, pulling,
rolling...Sparrow ended up on his back, legs skewed.

"By every god and demon what are you *waiting* for?"

"We don't...there isn't..."

"It's a dream, remember? Dive on in."
"Oh, right." And then it wasn't so much diving as exploding together, atoms
colliding. Sparrow pushed down hard as Byrd pushed in, the two groaning in tandem
in identical voice. They rocked together, dual sensations spreading, being
filled, being enclosed...no pain at all, only pleasure, and union, pure, utter
union. The thought that had rushed through his mind when Jack Sparrow first woke
returned as a swamping wave.

//I am.  Oh, God. I...am...//

We. Are.

After, they floated, somewhere warm and dark, a place that was a prelude to
waking.

//So, how do you suppose Will and Will are working things out?//

//Those two? Oh, knowing them, having a polite, civilized conversation about
honor, or some rot.//

//I wonder...//

* * *

In an empty smithy, swords clashed. No master, this time, and no mule. Merely two
men, one, again, a pirate.

The other? Middle management. But here, in this place, old instincts awoke, those
of his past self.  It was a damned good thing, too, since that was whom he fought.

"You fight dirty," Will Smith observed.

"Pirate," Will Turner shrugged.

"Not at all what I meant," Smith said, leaping onto the broken cart. "Barbossa?
An *apple,* for God's sake?"

"And for yours." A jump, and Smith was in the rafters. Another, and Turner joined
him. "And for his."

"For his...! Yeah, he's doing great, isn't he? Do you know how it hurts to see
him so *empty*!?" Swords met with a metallic click and Smith whipped his away and
up, only to meet Turner's again at the top.

"I meant Jack Sparrow, though the same holds for your Byrd."

"You aren't a great listener, are you?" Smith punctuated his speech with
bladework. "Jack. Went. Through. Hell!" On the last word he lunged, and Turner
overbalanced, slipping from the beams and landing hard in sand, though on his
feet. "And you can bet your identical ass that if Byrd went through hell, your
Captain Sparrow did too."

"I do not doubt it," Turner said, twitching his blade in invitation. "Nor do I
relish it. But what I said needed to be said, and what I did needed to be done."

"You sound like fucking Norrington, you know that?"

"Norrington was...is...a good man, and you know that."

"Maybe I meant to say you sound like a judgmental bastard." Smith grabbed a rope
and slid to the ground, his blade engaging Turner's again. "It scares you,
doesn't it, how easily I give up control? To Jack, to you, to..." He smiled
slightly, edged as the sword, "...well, a lot of people.  You know, I'm starting
to think that I've been compensating for your hang-ups my whole life."

Then Smith had to weave back as Turner's blade caught the edge of his sleeve,
creating a vent. "And do you think," the pirate smith replied, "that perhaps
you've gone a bit too far in the other direction?"

"I don't fucking believe this. My past life thinks I'm a slut." He snarled as he
compensated and attacked again. "I have never had a problem taking what was
freely given. Or giving to be freely taken. That isn't even piracy. It's trade."
Metal hit metal, faster than heartbeats. "Even after all Jack's efforts, you were
never comfortable being a pirate, were you?"

"And should one be?" Turner asked. "I reached an accommodation with myself, in
time, and accepted who I was, what I was. What I needed in the sea and a pirate's
life. That never guaranteed comfort with acts of piracy, nor should it have.
Piracy is theft, Will. It is removing from people what is their own." His blade
caught Smith's and slid along it to the hilt. "As to the rest, you did not jump
into bed with your Jack. You waited months. Not your usual pattern. Why was that?"

"Because there was something *there.* Something to build on, a connection we
could use to forge a relationship. I felt it...he felt it...and I didn't want to
screw things up. Again."

"I understand that," Turner whispered. "The need to make something perfect,
something pure."
They broke apart and Smith swung against Turner once more, metal rebounding with
a ringing tone. Then Will Smith raised his sword high... and threw it away.
"Goddamn it, I am through with this fucking cliché." He sat on a hay bale and
rested his head in his hands.

Turner stared at him a moment, then laid his sword aside.  "It is getting a bit
old, isn't it?" He took a seat on a barrel, across and to one side. "Did it work?"
"You mean, am I still angry with you? Yeah. But I'm tired, too, Will...tired of
fighting with you, fighting with myself. Because the hell of it is that I
understand why you did and said what you did." Head down, he looked up, eyes
hooded. "You...we...you know we never trusted him enough."

"I trust Jack Sparrow with my heart and soul. So yes, you're right, it is not
enough, because I have never fully trusted him with his own." He took a deep
breath. "I know I caused pain, and for that I am truly sorry."

"But?"

"No buts. I'm sorry, Will. Not just because your pain is mine, but also because
Jack suffered, both of them. I did not intend for any of us to get so lost."  He
looked up to meet his other self's eyes. "I do ask, though, that you consider one
thing."

"Yeah? What?"

"It may seem a bit radical."

"Just spill."

"Jack...is not always right."

"Oh, hell, I *knew* that..."

"But have you really thought about it? He was and is brilliant, then and now, and
he is also capable of being spectacularly wrong. It is given to us to tell him,
when we feel the need, though it cause pain." Turner stood and walked to Smith's
side. "No one can utterly save Jack Sparrow from himself save himself, but we are
bound to aid him. He's capable of being a great man. It's for us to see that he
remains capable of being a good one."

"Massively co-dependent," Smith murmured. "I knew it."

"A modern concept," Turner replied, "for a very old feeling. Now, come." He
walked to the forge, then beckoned, and Smith slid from the hay, followed him
over.
"I'm making a sword," Turner said. "Would you like to try it?"

Memories of heat and the ring of metal swirled in Smith, and watching him, Turner
smiled. The fire roared as he approached.  Smith ran his hands slowly across
hammer, tongs, and anvil. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then began.

It might have been an instant, an hour, or a day. Will juggled water, oils, sand,
heat, steel. The process returned to him...it had been one of the first things to
return to him the night Turner woke. By and by, his arms ached.  

"Hurts?" Turner asked.

"Yeah."

"I am minded of something old Brown told me during one of his rare sober hours."
Turner ran his hands along Smith's corded muscles.  "There is no creation without
pain, and no change. Will, coming to know me and Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth -
that is a profound change. There will be some pain in this. And I think there can
be much joy. Pain or no, I would not trade waking in you for sleeping on."

"Nor would I trade you back, if I could." And the statement brought less surprise
than Will thought it should.

"Now, look at what you've wrought."

Will held the new sword up to the light. No single-edged pirate's cutlass was
this. It was a thing of beauty...

"...a double-edged sword. Oh yeah, you're subtle." And Turner smirked, slightly.
"But I feel ... better, somehow. Like I'm building on something, giving...I mean,
it's a weapon, it takes lives, but..."

"'Tis a contradiction."

"Like me. Like you."

"Very much like," Turner murmured. "We are both blacksmith and pirate. We may
take, as we will, but we must also create."

"Sea and forge. Water and fire."

"Just so..."

"Judgmental bastard..." Smith sighed. "I ought to look in the mirror more often.
I'm not angry with you anymore. Still, there is something you must to do for me."

"Aye?"

"Don't fear to accept my gifts when they're offered," said Will Smith to Will
Turner, voice catching and softening into the accents of his prior self. "I offer
you myself, when there be a need, as you have already given of your soul.  'Twas
your life that forged mine, this I know." 

"We have an accord," Turner replied, and stepped behind him, enfolding Will in an
embrace. Every point of contact between them tingled. Lines blurred, one shifted
forward, the other backward...they began to overlap...

Oneness...wholeness...as one their eyes shut, and there was a feel of vertigo,
briefly, as they sank into one another...it was almost unbearable, this knowing,
a pleasure so keen it was very nearly painful and they simply breathed and
existed and *were* as the world fell away...

After, they floated in their own strange space on the verge of consciousness.

//So, how do you suppose Jack and Jack are working things out?//

//Probably rutting like ferrets.//

//...You're probably right.//

***

By and by, the world returned to Jack and Will. When Will finally opened his
eyes, standing above was an angel.

"Always saving me, Elizabeth..." he murmured, then his eyes went wide. "Liz!  Um,
how'd we get here?"  'Here' was Jack's house, Jack's bed. And Jack, next to him,
covering his eyes with one hand and moaning.

"Oh, we dragged you home, drunk off your asses."

"We?" Jack said, shakily. "Who, pray tell, is 'we'?" His hand flew away and his
eyes widened. "For the love of God, tell me Norton didn't undress me..."

"You're hardly naked, but now that you mention it..."

"No..."

"Oh, come on, Liz, stop torturing the poor bastards," came an unfamiliar female
voice. "If I had to look forward to my ex-husband lecturing me after a bender
like that, I'd probably eat my revolver."

"Guys, this is Jill. Jill, guys. I thought it might be nice for you to see a
familiar face," Liz said with odd emphasis. "Well, you, anyway, Will - I think
you two might've met once or twice."

"Lieutenant Gillian Norton," the woman said, stepping into view. She was tall,
round-faced but attractive, with a feathery cap of short hair bleached
white-blonde. She was also wearing a police uniform. "Hi. Don't know if you
remember me, Will - I'm Greg's ex-wife."

"Oh..." Will said slowly, "I think...I remember..." His eyes were wide, and next
to him, Jack made small choking noises.

Liz's smile was entirely too smug.

Jill, oblivious, continued. "Ouch. Looks like you two are in a pretty bad
way...luckily you've still got some time to get some real sleep before your week
starts. No such luck for me - I've got to be on shift in half an hour. And hey,
no lecture, but keep it at home next time? I don't want to see you guys brought
in for public intoxication."

"Right, um, look," Will said, "Thanks for this. You really didn't have to..."

"Wasn't a thing," Jill replied, on her way to the door. "Liz is a friend, and
she's happily decided to make Greg her problem, so ..." She ducked a swat from
the other woman and left.

"Holy shit," Will said, as soon as Jill was out of earshot. "That was..." and at
the same time, Jack, with,

"Fuck me. Gillette's a girl."

"You guys don't miss a trick, do you?" Liz sat at Jack's desk chair, swinging her
legs.

"You could have just told us..."

"Ohhhh, no. You two got to find out exactly the same way I did. The hard way."
Then her legs stilled and she leaned forward. "Are you...all...all right now?
Really? I mean, it's strange. You feel different to me, now. Like you said
before...whole. But Elizabeth thought a shock might be in order, if you were too
up in your own heads. Hence Jill. Plus, I...we...needed her help. You lot are
heavy."

"We're fine," Jack said, seriously, but with a smile dancing at the corners of
his mouth. "*All* of us. I'm pretty sure that Will and I went through a lot of
the same issues in our own weird ways. I think we sort of...hashed things out
last night."

"I hope Jill doesn't find any hash. She'd have my ass. And she'd tell Greg."

"Liz!"

"What?" But Liz smiled. "Look, I'm glad you're okay. Just...be good to
yourselves...each other...I don't know. You know?"

"Oddly enough, yeah."

"'Kay, I've set your alarm. You two should have plenty of time - just get some
sleep, okay?"

"Yes, mother."

"Obnoxious pirate."

"Which one?"

"Both of you, of course."

"Takes one to know one, love..." Jack called out, and then he fell back against
the pillows, true sleep claiming him.

Will slept, but less, and anticipated the alarm by half an hour. He did not hear
Jack rise and enter the living room - he'd taken down Jack's guitar and was
strumming it softly, singing to himself.

"...as the bombshells of my daily fears explode, I try to trace them to my
youth... and then you had to bring up reincarnation over a couple of beers the
other night, and now I'm serving time for mistakes made by another in another
lifetime..."

He leaned back into the arm that curled around his shoulders, gave a rueful
smile, and continued.

"...How long till my soul gets it right, can any human being ever reach that kind
of light...I call on the resting soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of
insight..."

Will's voice trailed off, and Jack murmured, "It's all right. It really is."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Will, Will, me own Will, this just proves me point about your listening. What'd
I just say?" And all of Will felt his heart leap at hearing Sparrow lacing
through Byrd's voice once more. "Isn't the first time we've hurt each other, lad,
and it won't be the last. We do as we always do, and keep moving." His hands
worked their way into Will's hair, eliciting a contented sigh. "Shh. Anyway, that
song's meant to be sung in harmony...later. Now...duty calls, dammit. You want to
get some coffee started?"

"Mmm. Aye, Captain."

* * *

CODA: Ill Winds

A few hours later and across town, a certain hypnotherapist was entertaining
company of an unwelcome, though not unexpected sort.  A chittering animal noise
announced him, accompanied by a soft jingle.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I told you it didn't have any guarantee of success. All I
can do is develop doubt if it exists. Plant the seed, as it were. I did start
early - I drugged both of them as soon as they got here and started weighting my
phrases to get them wondering. But I can't even say for sure that I brought their
past lives out at all, let alone caused any dissonance."

"Well, he always was tricky," came the raw-silk drawl. "And I suppose that was
the understatement of the millennium."  He stepped closer, in behind her. Her
breathing sped up. "I really didn't expect something as interesting as, say, a
suicide this time out. This was just a feint."  His hand reached up to caress the
side of her cheek, then lingered at her neck. She held her breath.

"Oh, relax, love," he said. "I don't kill everyone who fails me. I'm trying to
avoid cliché."  But then, as soon as her heartbeat calmed, he added, "Still, 'tis
nice to have the option."