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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: R. Graphic violence. Some main characters dead previous to beginning of story.
Pairing: Mainly, Will Turner/James Norrington, Jacques/Jack/José Gaspar.
Feedback: Favorite lines, constructive suggestions, etc. are all welcome.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine except these versions of Jacques and José (sort of).
Notes: Jacques uses the occasional French phrase (still shouldn't interfere with reading); translations upon request. //words// in Spanish. Modern-day parallel universe. Jacques looks like Brad Pitt, and José like Antonio Banderas. Some supernatural stuff. Special guest from Shrek II.
Summary: Barbossa has more cards up his sleeve than anyone realizes. James finally straightens out his life.
***
"You get used to everything-even hell."-Russian proverb
***
A pistol tapped on the countertop, rhythm as impatient and jittery as its strung-out owner. Three holes already decorated the wall on the other side of Will, and it seemed like Koehler was ready to make it four. "Hurry it up, boy. Quit stalling."
"Fuck off. You even touch me and you're all stuck in shit for eternity. You know that." Pretending a cool he didn't really feel, Will leaned against the bar and waited for the awful 'hold' music to stop massacring his eardrums. Christ, a syndicate halfway to Antarctica, and Barbossa liked fucking bagpipes? "It's not my fault your boss doesn't have enough secretaries."
"What's this? You volunteering to be the new one?" Grinning, the other men behind Koehler loomed off the barstools and shuffled nearer.
"'course, that won't work unless you lose a few bits-" A fist snapped around Koehler's throat, making his eyes bulge and his jaw drop in a soundless whine. Then he was tumbling off a stone wall, dark red streak where his head had been and splinters spearing his dreads.
Bo'sun-Will had never managed to figure out if the man had a real name-stood in the other pirate's place, a huge hunk of menace. The sight of him, standing over a prone Jacques, had haunted Will's dreams for months, and now the eerie glow of his eye-whites were bringing back all those terrible memories. "Shut it." He glared about at the others. "Touch him and face me."
With that laconic promise, he resumed his gargoyle crouch in the corner of the tiny bar, one foot about an inch from a wad of tobacco juice. Which was cringing even more than Koehler, who was slowly lurching back to his feet.
Will tightened his grip on his sword and made sure to keep his back to the wall and his eyes out front. He did force himself to relax the hold he had on the phone, as that hand the pirates could see. Four years back, they'd still been recognizably human despite the horrific skeletal appearance they took on in moonlight. Now, even though they looked almost normal under the moon, the glints in their eyes had much more in common with the Devil's hounds than any category of person. The slightest hint of fear, and they'd be on him as quick as a bullet could fly.
He was beginning to think he'd miscalculated, back when he'd called out that he was willing to go with them if they left José alone. The error wasn't with the trusting them with José, because he hadn't: after he'd come out of the room, he'd made them move some crates in front of the door, and then hadn't followed until they'd all backed away. And he'd kept his sword, which had annoyed Koehler to no end.
On the other hand, Bo'sun hadn't seemed upset at all by Will's wariness, but pleased. All he'd done had been to chuckle low in his throat and order the rest off, shouting that they didn't have time to dig out half-dead spics. It was as if he wanted Will to put up a fight, so later he could flash those big white teeth like a wolf, and laugh to the distant stars.
"I'm expected, aren't I?" Will growled into the receiver.
The music suddenly clicked off, and a voice of pure shivers replaced it. *Oh, I do believe you are. Hello, young William. Bo'sun called me from the road, and mentioned that you're willing to parley.*
***
Although José was all for new experiences, sneezing himself awake wasn't one of them. For one, it jarred a hell of a lot of pain loose from his thigh and sent it rocketing up his body. For two, it made something fuzzy squall like an angry baby right in his ear. //So help me God, I'm going to--//
And for the magic third reason, it made him remember everything much faster than his stomach could handle. He clawed for the edge of the bed and tried to orient himself in the rapidly-gyrating room, looking past the transparent dancing bones for the bathroom, trashcan, a nice quiet corner where no one would…
…notice him collapsing as he put weight on his injured leg. The agony burned through his spine and cleared up his vision so he had a perfect view of the floor rearing up to bash in his face.
Except hands caught him before he went down, and a bucket got shoved in his face mere seconds before the thick clumpy vomit boiled out of his mouth. More hands helped him back onto the mattress, which was of surprisingly good quality, and fingers brushed gently over his temples as they held his hair out of the way.
"Meow?" Little soft warm ball cuddled into his hip.
"Not now, kitty. Jacques, what the hell did you dose him with?" Jack's voice was rougher than it should be, but it was still calm and steady and a very much-needed touchstone that helped ground José in the present world.
"Just regular painkillers." Another hand pried off the…kitten, and soothingly ran up and down José's back, coaxing the cramped muscles to relax. "With that blow to the head, he wouldn't be able to handle any of the specialty stuff."
Across the room, someone was pacing by the wall, their feet trampling excess anger and anxiety into the rattling floorboards. Norrington actually managed to look worse than the last time José had seen him, drunk and snarling as an unemployed longshoreman. The bags under each eye had deepened to puffy black-blue, and red spiderwebbed through the whites of his eyes, while the irises were so green the color seemed to slice through the air. He was wearing the sword, José noted, and it was that his fingers kept drifting toward, and not the gun as during the preceding few days.
A last burst of bile sneaked up on José, and he coughed it out until his lungs were screaming at him, loud as any suburban housewife. Then the bucket went somewhere on the floor as he slumped into Jack's shoulder. Jack passed him a bottle of rum, and he paused to rinse his mouth before speaking. "Will hit me. I think afterward, he gave himself up to Barbossa's men."
"Goddamned-branleur. He's supposed to be the smart one, I thought." The cat miaowed loudly from behind, and Jacques' hair fluttered against José's side as the other man laid down. The hand dropped to José's waist, and one index finger dipped under his shirt to trace a sigil. "Well?"
"Nothing. I can't feel him." Before he went on, José took another sip of the rum so its heat would burn out the lingering foulness in his mouth. He slid his hand back to draw a possible answering glyph on the inside of Jacques' wrist. "But…give me a minute and I might be able to find the pirates."
Beads and ornaments clinked in disharmony as Jack shook his head, his face alternately shading light and dark. The lights were dim, probably to keep down the level of attention they attracted, and they clothed the other man in bright-edged shadow, like a knife in the dark. "Was one of them very tall, black, with tattoos about his eyes?" His mouth twisted, coldly angry, when José nodded. "Bo'sun. He left an ambush on us when we came for you, but it was only normal men. And the one we took from those didn't know anything. Just some thug grabbed off the street and paid for a one-time job. Which isn't right. Too slipshod."
"They'd need a lot to watch Will," Jacques pointed out.
"Not that many, if he were unconscious or drugged. So he's not." Folded hands pressed thoughtfully against lips, giving the misleading impression that Jack was praying. The man never did anything of the sort; luck was either with him, or it wasn't, and either way he always planned his own route. "He's awake, unhurt, and…oh, damn. He wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?" For the first time, James entered the conversation. His voice sounded like it'd been worked over with brass knuckles, and then left in the pebbled bed of a dried-up river.
Jacques sat up again, a dark suspicion taking over his face. He swept a hand through his hair, spiking it towards the back, and stared at Jack from under a ragged fringe of gold. "Does this have to do with-"
"Knew I should've told him about Bootstrap before this," Jack muttered. And suddenly, he was exhausted, worn and almost old. His eyes flicked over each of them, and then he abruptly tipped up José's chin for a quick kiss, more for reassurance of presence than anything else. "The Black Pearl's got a curse on it."
James stopped pacing and leaned against the wall, shoulder to it so a stripe of light marked out the line of his body. Like a crime scene chalking. He waited without moving, whereas Jacques jiggled the mattress with his fidgeting. José winced at the hurt that movement caused, and the other man stopped and slid an apologetic hand up José's uninjured thigh.
"Bill and Maria broke it for me, so I didn't suffer it. But when she died and Bootstrap met up with Barbossa again, Bill put it on again. Last thing he did before dying, I've been told." The sudden sliver of ice in Jack's voice heavily hinted at just who had done the telling. "And now old Hector's looking to get it broken again."
The Black Pearl wasn't a topic of conversation very often, and never at any great length. Will made Jack a replacement sword, the forging done with all the heart and good wishes in the world, but José had woken enough times to see Jack staring at that blade as if it were a stranger to know the truth. He'd known enough not to push any of the others for information, either, even though it was obvious that that legendary sword had been responsible for the worst scars that dotted Jack's, Jacques', Will's bodies.
However, now it wasn't a matter of past ghosts, and future shadows. Present life was at stake. José struggled into a sitting position, jerking from the hands that reached out to help. "Jack. What does it do?"
Nothing but coal eyes, ringed with more of the same so the whole retreated into mysterious distance. Well, too bad, but the romance wasn't going to cut it. "Jack, for the love of God, what are you saying?" José demanded, using his fear and fury to harden his voice to steel.
When the other man finally answered, his voice was taut with some remembered hatred. "Whoever holds that sword has control over the deadlands. If they can get past the curse. If they can't-then they still have great power, but the deadlands control them. That's why Barbossa, and all the men that swore bloodoaths with him, are zombies."
"Zombies," James repeated. He laughed a little, and the hollowness in it reflected the vacancy of his eyes. "Good God. I never expected things to come to this."
Fingers tentatively stretched toward José's face, and he sighed and bent to them, because he couldn't do otherwise. Jack was Jack, and part of that was a strongbox of secrets that was opened only when necessary. José had known that, and he'd gone in with open eyes. Though he'd be a fool if he didn't admit that it hurt, once in a while.
But not quite as much when Jack was touching him. Rough-soft pads skated around his cheek, then cupped his chin and drew him back to Jack's side. They coasted down his neck and stomach to help straighten his injured leg, smoothening down the bulky bandaging. "Sorry," Jack whispered into his hair.
"About getting stabbed? Don't be ridiculous. Used to be my job." Of course, that wasn't what they were really talking about, but the emotions behind the words were applicable to both top and bottom layer of conversation.
If José were a normal person living in a normal world, he should probably have been throwing a fit right about now. But he wasn't, Jack was warm, and getting angry wouldn't help get Will back from whatever nonsense the man was trying to pull. Speaking of which, José made a note to remind that stupid swordsmith that Jacques could out-hustle him any day, so he should stop trying and stick to doing the things no one else could do. "So should I look for Will?"
"Yeah. Go-actually, stay here and do that while I have a talk with Norrington." Jack carefully shifted José onto the bed and swigged some rum, which he then fed to José in a long, deep kiss. Third reason not to get too upset: Jack was wonderful at making things up to people.
As soon as the other men stepped out, José painfully rolled over to face…the kitten. Cute little evil, it was. //Hey, cat. Where'd you come from?//
"Puuupuuuss." As the painkillers started to make themselves known again, it snuggled beneath his chin. "Mrrr."
//Puss//, he corrected. The world gradually faded out as it stretched-
--and whiplashed back when merciless fingers tickled his belly. //Fucker! I'm trying to do some tracking here!//
"I already tried," Jacques sourly muttered. His eyelids closed to half-mast, then went up so fast the click was practically audible. "Goddamn it."
"And this is actually my territory, so I can do some things you can't," José retorted, a little more sharply than he probably should've. But the other man was being so…defeated. And he wasn't even the one who couldn't walk for the next week. "What's with you? Barbossa needs Will alive, so we've got that long. If you'd let me do my work."
"That's not what I'm worried about. I'm afraid Will doesn't want us to go after him. Because he doesn't mean to come back."
It put an excruciating strain on his leg to lean up and properly slap Jacques, but the ire that startled into the other man's face made the pain worth it. José fell back before Jacques could retaliate and clutched the cat to himself as a makeshift shield. "Look, I still don't know exactly what happened to who when, but it doesn't matter. Will's being stupid. So we're going to drag his ass back and show him that. Case closed."
Jacques' mouth opened and shut several times while a red handprint bloomed on his cheek. Then his face vanished into the sheets, muffling a stressed but genuine laugh. A hand waved in apology, and then curled, comforting and seeking comfort, around José's palm. "My apologies. It wasn't a good year, back then. I'll…tell you about it after you find him."
"Deal." José brought the other man's hand to his lips and held it there while he loosed his mind again, sending it out to sift through the land's dense collection of blots. Feeling for the ones of perpetual rot.
He'd never seen the point in humility, unless it was used to convincingly dissemble. José had no problems with admitting how good he was, and because of that, he knew it was only a matter of time before they all met again.
***
"It 'used to be my job.' What was he?" Not terribly relevant to the coming discussion, but James' head was far from steady, and he seriously doubted his ability to jump directly to the point.
At least he was sober now, though that was as painful as he'd expected. Jacques hadn't offered him any of the painkillers the other man had so assiduously fed to an unconscious, weakly thrashing José, and he hadn't asked for any. Sparrow and Jacques had done all the stitching, and James had only provided the brute strength to hold Gaspar still, yet it had still taken him a good five minutes to rinse his hands clean afterward. Frankly, if he weren't so shell-shocked, he would be amazed at the other man's swift recovery time. After that much blood loss, most people would've been unable to do more than moan for the next week, let alone display the kind of mental acuity José had.
And James was jealous of that, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd been as competent and cool.
There had been a literal shroud over the ruins of Port Royal; human flesh burned to make an oily, black smoke so dense it was almost solid. He'd stumbled through that searing, thick air until he'd collapsed, and when he had stood up again, he had still been walking through that fog. After a while, he'd become accustomed to it, and had forgotten that it hadn't always been there.
Stripping away a haze wasn't like peeling an onion. First, a stray beam of light had to stab through to make a path. Then it withdrew to gather strength before suddenly reemerging and blasting away the blackness with blinding white. It was very easy for a man to mistake that for yet another attack, because of the harshness of the sun. It was harder to force past that erroneous impression, and relearn how to walk and see and breath yet again, but James had never let himself be afraid of struggling, once he had decided to move toward a goal. He didn't plan to now.
"Mercenary, mostly. He did a few assassinations that even you must've heard about, high as you were." Biting as the content of his words were, Jack's tone was strangely detached and uncritical. His eyes were studying James as if watching a particularly tricky shift in the wind.
"I'm beginning to think you were expecting something like this," he told Jack. "You sent José after Will, but Jacques seems closer to him-at the very least, they've known each other for three more years than Will and José have. But Jacques is biased when matters involve Barbossa."
"So's Will." Jack rocked back on his heels, seriousness in the glitter of his eyes and the angle of his jaw, and suddenly James could see all too easily how such a man could hold the allegiances of so many others. Plain steel beneath all the eye-catching finery. "Yes, Norrington, I was afraid something like this might happen. I half-raised Will, after all. That's not important, though. What is important is that the quarrel you have is really with me, and not Turner. But he thinks it is."
"I wasn't much help at disabusing him of that." Vague whispers were drifting up from the floor, beneath which Gibbs and a variety of other strangers were quietly moving about. Jack had assembled quite the crew, despite his being little more than a bodiless bar-tale for the past two years.
Silver-black streaked the air, then resolved into a ring as Jack dismissively waved his hand. "I've got bones to pick with you, but they're not the ones currently holding onto Will. So we'll leave that for later."
The other man's voice was hard as diamond, and James didn't even consider thinking that statement a reprieve. The reckoning between them was still smudging out the horizon…but that was fine. He'd handle that when it came; no one with any particle of sense fought on two fronts if they could help it, and James was finally thinking clearly. "You need me to go after Will. Because you have to stay here and organize the people you've picked up, and José can't leave the bed. Jacques…I have the impression he'll lose his head if he gets too near Barbossa."
"He can work that out with our friendly prisoner," Jack replied, falsely lighthearted, as he referred to the cursing lunatic they'd captured in the ambush. "But unfortunately, yes, I do. As soon as José finds them, you're off."
"I'll bring him back," James said. He meant it, too, without any of his past equivocations or uncertainties. He wasn't fighting Will, so it was time he stopped acting as if he was.
Jack took another step closer and laid hot palms against James' chest. Under any other conditions, it would've been flirtatious. Here, with the eerily uncompromising edge to the other man, it was ominous as thunder rolling across the ocean. For a moment, James could believe that Jack could and would kill him, as easily as a shoe could crush an insect. "I can't invoke our accord, because Barbossa is on his way to meet Will and our agreement's technically null. But if you abandon Will to take your chance at revenge, I'll hunt you through this world, and through heaven and hell. And that's if Jacques doesn't get you first."
James simply nodded, because words were more or less useless until he started to put his credibility back together. For a moment, they stared at each other, two tired warriors wondering what they would lose to the newest round.
To Jack's credit, the man's usual blithe confidence returned quicker than James' sorely-tested fortitude. "Wait a minute," and then Jack was slipping back into the room.
Then again, he had an undoubtedly warm welcome waiting for him, whereas James had…
…mistakes to correct, so he couldn't waste time in pointless self-recriminations and self-pity. He deserved whatever he received, but until then, he was going to act.
As a furious round of protesting started up in the room, Jack's head popped back out. "They're in a bar in Santa Aña, two hours from here. The Terasco. You've heard of it?"
"Of course." One of the biggest massacres in recent Mexican history, though it hadn't even made the news in order to protect someone in the government. Nothing new there; it was very clear now that in some places, the so-called law wouldn't suffice.
James took off his sword and used it to salute Jack as he walked off into the unofficial gathering storm. Time to face up to his consequences.
***
Turner was very like his father. Very like. The only exception being his eyes, and his manner of moving: Bootstrap had been a solid, earthy man and his mannerisms had reflected that, with only a pair of sparking blue eyes to hint at anything more. That dark glower and the swordsman's way of flowing had to be from the elusive Mrs. Turner, whom Hector had never had the opportunity to meet, to his great disappointment. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't hate women. He'd respected quite a few, in fact; he just didn't have any problem with hurting or killing them if they were foolish enough to get in his way. Probably fairer treatment than they got in a lot of quarters, even after their liberation movements and agitating.
"Sit down," he invited, sweeping out a hand toward the bar at which he sat. "I'm feeling a little lonely, all by my lonesome. There's plenty of room."
The other man flicked a look at the bloody limbs and heads and torsos piled up in one corner. His expression didn't so much as waver, and Hector's estimation of young William went up a notch. "So I see."
In order to put Turner a little more at ease, Hector graciously didn't watch as the other man gingerly made his way over; his decision also had the bonus of letting him find out how Will would react to the unprotected back of his most hated nightmare.
Footsteps swung wide of him, then shuffled in to stop at a stool two over. Leather creaked and metal screeched as William took a seat.
Well, now. Honorable. Or clever, given that Hector's men were still loitering about outside. And while they weren't killable, permanently speaking, they didn't appreciate the energy it took to regenerate bits and pieces of themselves. "I suppose you've seen the improvements I've made."
"Yeah." William refused the proffered alcohol, and instead produced his own bottle. So they hadn't searched him-good. The more of his own things he had, the more likely he was to become comfortable. Careless. Bo'sun really was getting to know Hector's way of taking matters in hand. "I noticed they bleed now," the other man added, with grudging appreciation for the effort it had taken.
"Aye. Bleed, and keep their lovely skins, all except for a few gaps here and there." Hector held his glass up and studied the way the tequila trapped the light, turning gold except where the rusty stains obscured it. "Had to fight more and stranger battles than you can imagine to reverse the curse that far."
The little inflection in his voice did its job, because after that, Turner's head came up and a narrow gaze arrowed its way along the bar. On the wood, the boy's hand curled till the knuckles were popping white. "You're stuck."
"Very perceptive. It's all smoke and mirrors, what I've managed so far. We may look prettier, but we're still trapped in hell." Seeing one's own bones in moonlight-now, that was a shocker, but nothing that couldn't be accustomed to in time. But feeling the constant howling absence of feeling was a different matter. Nine years of watching sense memories fade to jagged holes changed a man.
For one thing, it had made Hector much more appreciative of the quality of patience. It was much harder to live in the short-term when the pleasure was absent, and much easier to watch the coming horizon when there was nothing else to do.
For another, it had given him a deep understanding of the meaning of torment. Turner undoubtedly was suspicious of the kind manner by which he'd been handled, and the nerves would be wearing.
"Unlike you, I don't have all the time in the world. What's your first offer?" William finally said, after about two more minutes of silence than Hector had predicted. Then again, living with Jack Sparrow probably accounted for that.
"Did I say I had an offer?" Hector sipped at his glass, cherishing the simple sensation of the liquid rippling over his tongue. It was all he'd had left, and he wasn't giving it up if he could help it. "I seem to remember you propositioning me."
Much to his amusement, that made Turner flinch and almost blush. Odd…Hector remembered hearing that Bootstrap and Maria hadn't provided too well for their son's survival after their deaths. And as fine-featured as William's face was, he couldn't still be innocent of that side of life.
"No." Turner's voice was steady enough as he put palms flat on the bar and stood up. His eyes didn't falter when he looked at Hector, either, and Hector had to admit the boy's courage couldn't be faulted. The quality of William's wits, however, had still to be decided. "I said you have a sword you need fixed, and I have the skills to do it. Whether I've got a reason to is up to you, though."
"So it is, so it is. And I have to say, the Pearl's seen better days. Makes my heart ache to see her in such a state." As he spoke, Hector slowly pulled his scabbard up and unsheathed his sword, making sure not to startle the boy. That would come later.
William's eyes showed cautious contempt and partially-hidden fear at first, but flipped to pure astonishment as the blade-or rather, the half of the blade-revealed itself.
"This would be what your father did, when he found out I wasn't planning to leave Jack alone." Hector tilted the broken sword up and slightly forward so Will could have a good view of the shattered edge. "Up till then, he was quiet as a mouse. Went along with everything. But I mention a little house-cleaning, and he loses his head."
Silence. Turner's nostrils flared and shrank, and he leaned back as he stared at Hector. The epitome of the mistrustful young.
"Oh, yes. He wouldn't have minded as long as Sparrow got to live, somewhere. But do you really think Jack would've been content to-well, I don't have to ask that. We both know the answer," Hector gently laughed. He replaced the Pearl in her sheath, careful to slide her in so the jagged ends fit together. "He'd left your mother for good, by that point."
And then William came back to life with a vengeance. "You're lying! He didn't leave her-you kept him from her!"
"I did no such thing, and I swear to that on this sword. He left her. With eyes wide open-she would've been about six months along by then." Then Hector allowed himself a real, true grin, and he watched Turner tremble with rage and dread. "You see, he thought she was rolling in the sheets with Jack. Which even I knew wasn't true-it was common knowledge, how Maria Turner had a liking for Sparrow, but he wasn't that sure of her and himself-"
A sword at his throat, and he only broadened his smile. Too easy, after all, with the inheritance of both the mother's and the father's tempers. Blood would out, in the end. Turner would help him, one way or another, the only difference being the kind of persuasion he'd have to employ. Reason or fear, either doing as well as the other.
"Shut up," Will ordered.
"What's in your mind, boy?" Laughing again, Hector pushed the quivering tip from him, absently observing how thick blackish blood welled from his cut finger. Still hadn't got the color right, and that bothered him a little more than it should. Blood was blood, whether blue or black or red…and yet, it seemed wrong. "Why are you here? Want to get your hands on my blade and fix it, or steal it?"
Turner didn't flinch, but he froze, which was just as telling. Then his eyes snapped fire. "Why are you here? To piss me off, or convince me to help you?"
"Well, how's this: you settle down, and go quietly into the forge we've fixed up in the back, and that way you get to make your heart-wrenching sacrifice to save Jack's life. Or you try to kill me like a fool, and I try out this trick a gypsy mentioned to me. Dip the pieces in your blood, and then get someone else to fix it." Hector stroked his chin as if he were still debating the issue, when in fact he'd decided it long ago. Patience could only take a man so far. "There are other swordsmiths in the world besides you, you know."
"That's not how you break the curse," Will hissed, leaping back. His sword sang as he brought it into position, and it sounded hopeless.
"Worth a try." With every step, the Pearl rattled at Hector's hip. She also was less than pleased, but he didn't give a damn what anyone thought anymore. The fruits of his labors spoke loudest to him, and they were most truthful, so he didn't bother with second opinions. "We're not going to kill you, Turner. Not yet, anyhow."
And that was the cue. A tiny colored blur hummed through the air from the doorway, and-
***
After fifteen minutes of trying, Jacques knew any further attempts would be useless. Which was why he jerked at his wrists one more time.
//Goddamn it, that hurts! Stop moving the bed!// A hand came down on his, and José roused long enough to glare at Jacques. Then the other man flopped back and grumbled into the pillows. "You know, I was thinking about untying you after Jack left, but now I'm not so sure. You're being a bastard."
"So are you. Aren't you worried about Will at all?" Jacques yanked again, a little harder than he meant to, and the leather holding him to the headboard sliced deep into his flesh. "Merde!"
"Of course I am." José looked deeply hurt at the blunt words, and he curled away from Jacques. //Motherfucking son of a bitch. Go dig in the dirt for your damned snails.//
Damn it. And now Jacques felt even worse than he had before, with anxiety like a hook twisting his intestines up his throat, and regret sprinkling acid over all of it. He went limp and buried his face in the sheets, swallowing until he could speak. "I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't. But you did mean it when you said Jack was a shit-licking idiot for letting Norrington go after Will."
"But…" It wasn't fair. Jacques should be doing something, and not just lying around waiting for other people to come back from fucking up their responsibilities again. "Norrington's so…so dense. When he watches black-and-white movies, he probably doesn't even see the gray."
"He's gotten better," José pointed out. That was true, but Jacques didn't want to believe it. "And I think Jack's right to say that if you went, we'd be in even more trouble. You and Barbossa-"
"He…that bastard touched me, you understand? The last time we-first he put a fucking knife through my arm to pin me down, and…" Remembered helpless fury and disgust and horror boiled over, washing away all words and then leaving Jacques with nothing except cold. He shivered, and wished he hadn't upset José and Jack. "You're right."
Snort, and an arm draping over his shoulders. "Of course I am. I'm always right," Jack said, sitting down on the bed. His hands skimmed over Jacques' body until it began to warm again, and then they undid the wrist tether so Jacques could bring his hands down. "Are you going to listen now, or are you going to annoy José some more?"
A mouth nudged under Jacques' chin, and José playfully licked from collarbone to jawline. "He's not that bad. Cute when he's sulking, anyway."
"Salauds," Jacques half-heartedly muttered. He ignored the stifled mew from between him and José, and tangled his fingers in the other man's shirt. "Are you going to untie my wrists?"
"When I think you won't kill Norrington. And he is coming back, with Will in tow. Man's too principled to mess that up." Jack fluttered nails down Jacques' spine, sparking sluggish tingles, then patted them both on the cheek. "Right, then. Want to hear the current plan?"
"Only if you got rid of the candy cane idea." José briefly pulled away to fiddle with the spell circles he'd set up by the bed, then rolled back and smushed Puss into Jacques' stomach.
The thing had claws. Jacques shoved it out, and then had to watch as José rescued it and cuddled the damned fuzzball. Fucking little-
--all right, enough of that. Worry was still a horrible freezing knot in Jacques' stomach, but focusing only on it wasn't going to help. And as much as he hated to admit it, desperate times called for wild card plays; Barbossa already knew how he and Jack worked, but most likely had no idea what Norrington was like now.
Will would be fine. Jacques had helped make sure of that. The man could take care of himself, and it would be an insult to him to not believe in that. He'd be fine. He would.
***
The very air seemed to lose all vibrancy and go dead around Barbossa, stale and flat as week-old beer left in an alley. Will's nerves had started to jangle the moment the other man had stepped in, and he hadn't been reassured in the slightest when all the other pirates had quietly filed out of the room. Getting angry hadn't helped that, either.
So when the dart came flying at him, he didn't realize he'd sliced the thing out of the air until five seconds later, when he and Barbossa were clashing blades around the bar. Somewhere along the line, Will had picked up vaulting skills…not that that actually helped, considering how awkward it was to fight around the taps.
"Not bad." Swish, and then the thrust reversed itself too fast. Pain flicked through Will's arm, and Barbossa's pupils widened thirstily at the sight of blood. "But not good enough, I'm thinking."
"And I'm thinking that you were trying to pin the blame for my parents on Jack." Will dodged a slash and jumped back over the bar. Another dart came at him, and he threw himself into a roll, then tried for the backroom door. Barbossa got there first, though, and now pirates were starting to flood in the front door. Fuck. "No go, Barbossa. I remember my mother, and I trust Jack."
That garnered him dark snickers from all round. Some fucker tried to slam him with a pipe, and he whipped around to send that man's head flying into the wall. Still wouldn't be permanent, but it'd take a while to set to rights.
"But you never knew your father. I wasn't lying about that, Turner." With every lunge, Barbossa was inexorably driving Will back into the waiting ring of hungry-eyed pirates. Will's arm was starting to lose strength as well; its cut wasn't serious but was draining.
Shit. Well, when the odds were insane, the method was, too. Will charged Barbossa, felt hot pain lick through his shoulder, but he ignored that and slid at the last minute to knock the other man over himself. Then he pushed up and leaped for the counter. Went from there to a moth-eaten elkhead on the wall, slicing above his head and hoping to God that the place was as cheap as it looked.
He wasn't disappointed. The ceiling cut as easy as plain cloth, and then he was hauling himself onto the roof. There was one chatty pirate waiting for him, but Ragetti was still a klutz and it was a moment's work to boot his ass off. Then Will crouched, feeling his mouth and lungs burn with every pant. He hastily ripped up his other sleeve and wound it around his injuries as best he could, and then he waited.
Measured beats of boot-clomping. Barbossa's amused voice drifted up through the hole. "Well, we can't shoot you down, and you could hold us off for quite a while from there. Not bad, William."
"Go fuck a corpse-oh, wait, you already do. Your bo'sun give as good head as he does conversation?" Will called back. Below, someone roared like a lion.
"Shut. Up." Ice then, but when Barbossa returned his attention to Will, he was all smooth reasonableness. "One thing I was lying about, Turner, was when I said a gypsy told me how to break the curse. Your father did, when he was dying after putting it back on."
Will couldn't breath. The air would go into his mouth, but there it stayed, gumming to his teeth and clotting on his tongue.
"You see, there's all sorts of extra frippery you have to do when you only have a little blood. But that's not necessary when you have a lot." Approving chuckle. "He told me that after I'd run him through, when I thought I'd won. Never figured old Bill to be so vicious."
"You still need me to make it whole," Will rasped, tightening his grip on his sword. "No one else can do it the way it needs to be done. My ancestor made the Pearl, and you know that, too."
"True enough, true enough. But the question is: do I need you afterward? Alive, anyway. And I'm thinking the answer to that is no." Rustle-clank as Barbossa climbed up onto the bar, and then Will could see that mad gold grin, framed in jags and fragments. "But I do need you now. For one, hearing that I'm holding you hostage will bring Jack running like little else-oh, but you thought you could make a deal to cut him out? Shame, William. Shame. Just like your father, you are."
"I am not-" Will began, backing away.
Barbossa's voice lashed him like a whip. "You are, boy. Jack knows where we are. You might've been hiding yourself, but I haven't. In fact, he should be showing up right now."
And the moment he finished, they heard the sound of a single car coming up the road. Will watched it turn from speck to Jack's unmistakable car, heart in his mouth. Oh, God. Oh, God.
It stopped just out of range of the pirates' guns, which was strange. Unless Jack had a plan…a tiny spark of hope relit, and Will quietly crept to the edge of the roof to get a closer look. So when James stepped out of the car with what looked like a handheld missile launcher on his shoulder, Will had a perfect view. "Oh…fuck…"
Their eyes met, and for once, they completely understood each other. Will was an idiot, and James had issues. And they needed to get going.
The rocket screamed toward the far end of the bar, and Will immediately threw himself off the roof. He hit the ground a second before the boom blew out all the air, and then he was running, low so he could use the cars parked out front as shields. A few dazed pirates tried to trip him, but a couple quick slashes got them out of the way.
When he reached the road, however, the adrenaline suddenly shut off and his ankle lanced molten pain up his leg. Will gritted his teeth and turned around, sword up.
And nearly fell on his face as a car squealed to a halt behind him. Fucking miracle that he didn't cut himself tumbling backwards into the seat; James helped Will sheath it and then reached across to yank the door closed. Outside, Barbossa's men were beginning to recover. "They're-"
"I know. Stay down." Yeah, that was definitely a big nasty piece of artillery. James shoved it through the passenger window and blew the other half of the bar to pieces, then tossed it into the backseat and slammed down on the acceleration. He wrenched the steering wheel like he was wringing a chicken neck.
At the same time, Will's brain finally reconnected with his mouth. "You-you fucking lunatic! What if I'd been inside?"
"Then I would've thought of something else. And why do you have something like that in the trunk, anyway?" James fishtailed the car into a u-turn, dirt sloshing up and in the open window to patter into Will's mouth, and then sped off. "Are you all right?"
"More or less." Will spat out the gross-tasting shit and riffled grit from his hair as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "What the hell are you doing here?"
***
"I could ask you the same question. What were you doing in there? Jack implied that you were trying to negotiate your own terms." Relief and ire warred in James' chest as he answered Will. On the one hand, the other man appeared to be whole and unharmed, but on the other, he sounded almost angry that James had shown up.
"I was…trying to remove a point of contention, if you want to get fancy. What do you think I was doing?" Will shouted, striking at the dashboard with the heel of his hand. "I had a chance to get the Pearl back, and I took it. Don't you understand? As long as Barbossa's got that thing, he's invincible!"
"And why, pray tell, would he risk giving it up to you?" James demanded.
Will's mouth opened and stayed that way without a word coming out. Then he slumped into the seat, a moody, dejected expression on his face. "Because he needs me to fix it. At least, I thought he did. Figured I could end this stupid game we're in, without Jack getting hurt again. But it's more complicated than…damn it, I just wanted to…help. I needed to get them away from José, because he was bleeding so badly, and then I thought…"
"The return wouldn't have been worth the odds. If you'd died, and you very well could have…people would have missed you." The words were awkward, unevenly-shaped things on James' tongue, and he knew he wasn't handling the situation like he should. But it was difficult just to keep his hands on the wheel and the car on the road when he wanted to bury his face in Will's hair. When he wanted to hit the man for being so short-sighted, and then soothe the bruise with his mouth.
"I know that. But-it's the sword, and it's me, and the one's connected to the other. And I don't want them to get hurt again." Will drummed his fingers on the door, then glanced over. He didn't turn completely around, but halted halfway and rested his cheek against the top of the seat. "The first try, Barbossa didn't know who I was. Now he does, and everything's just…and you and Jack were…"
"We have an accord." It was a cold statement, and James struggled to properly the convey the conclusions he'd come to on the drive over. "That is-revenge is a very clever illusion. You think it'll give you everything you want, and then you find it won't. I want Barbossa dead, but now, I don't think it matters so much who kills him as long as it's done. Either way, Elizabeth won't come back. You won't get back the parts of your life that he's taken."
He could feel an intense gaze burning into a spot just under his eye as Will silently listened. Then fingers hesitantly touched the wheel, and moved till they covered James'. "I'm not a princess that needs to be saved. I do what I do on purpose, even if it's a dumb purpose. And I'm not Elizabeth."
James took a deep breath, and curled his hand around Will's fingers. He pulled Will's hand off the wheel and pressed it to his cheek, nose, lips. "I'm not a knight. I'm not even a commodore now. I'm simply James. But…would you have me, anyway?"
A long, lean warmth curved to fit his side, and Will laid his head against James' shoulder. "Yeah, I would. I am."
After that, they didn't talk.
***
Jack was leery of entrances. Not doors, but entrances. People walking in, or blowing through wood panels, or collapsing. That sort of thing. And while he was perfectly all right with carrying out one himself, he had quite a few reasons for being nervous of them in other people's hands. One of which was standing two inches from his nose, hands on hips and leveling an industrial-strength glare at him.
"Sparrow, you've got till the count of three to get your face out of my breasts."
"Now, be reasonable, Anamaria. I'm kneeling. You're standing. And I can't get up until you back off a bit." Palms up, Jack tried to push the woman away. Then he realized that that might be taken amiss, and he quickly let go. Detoured those foolish hands of his to retrieve his cell phone from the floor, which was what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. "What'd you be doing here, in Tortuga?"
She glowered for a little longer, and then leaned back against the frame, Cheshire smile firmly on her face as she affectionately played with his hair. "I got bored. It's too damn dull without you lot pissing the desert up. Plus, I thought about it again and figured it'd be a shame to miss out on the fight of the century."
Assorted grunts and wisecracks from the massed group behind her attested to that as well. Jack considered the matter for a moment, then shrugged and let them in. She knew what she was getting into, and far be it from him to turn down the favors of a beauty like Anamaria. In fact, he would've offered her a place in the coming tangle, except she and Will were still a little raw with each other. Besides, the services Anamaria provided came at exorbitant rates.
All the more reason to accept them when they were gratis, then. He slung a friendly arm about her waist and whirled her into the next room before he could get a knife against his belly. "Gibbs, look who's in town!"
"Good God." The other man got up from the scattered maps and building plans on the floor, beaming as he reached out a hand. Then he froze, and his smile clicked off. "Good God," he repeated, more quietly.
That nasty itching that presaged a surprise started up between Jack's shoulderblades, and he closed his eyes. Fought down the threatening headache with a glass of rum swiped from Gibbs, and then turned around.
Will stood in the doorway, filthy with blood and caked dust, with one hand clutched around the middle of his scabbard and the other enfolded in James'. "Jack," he said in an unnaturally even tone. "Why didn't you ever tell me about my father and mother and you?"
"Going for the kitchen," Anamaria hurriedly muttered, taking along her people as she did. "By the way, this time wasn't my fault."
No, it was Jack's, and damn, but there were better times and places for this than in the middle of a crowd. He passed his empty glass to someone else and waved Will into the hallway by the stairs. James sensibly stayed by the room while Jack drew Will into a small alcove, but those green eyes didn't wander very far from them.
"What did Barbossa tell you?" Jack asked. "I need to know what you still don't."
Will started to say something, low and harsh and very Spanish, but then he caught himself and looked at the wall. "He said…my mother wanted you, but you turned her down. And that that's why my father left her. Left her, deliberately. That's not what you said before."
"Because I told you about the man I knew." Jack dared put a hand on Will's shoulder, and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he wasn't shaken off. "He did leave her, but later, he tried to come back. Barbossa wouldn't let him."
Dark eyes abruptly slid to Jack's face and pinned him in place. "Little white lies, huh?"
Well, that stuck in Jack's jaw, like a sore eating away at the flesh. He tightened his grip on Will till the other man winced, and then he yanked Will in so they were sharing breath. Across the hall, James started, but didn't do more than that. "Listen, Will. I told you about my friends. And they always were that, up until their dying breaths. You want the dirty gossip, you know where to go. All I'll give you is the friendship, through thick and thin."
"Just tell me something, and I want it straight. No dressing up-I'm not some street-kid anymore," Will hissed back. "What you've done, what you're doing…is this because of my parents? Is it because of what happened back when I can't even remember?"
"I don't believe this. No wonder you-" Jack trailed off and shoved the other man back. He stared at his hands, wondering as he never did what the balance of them were. Good versus bad. Not as regarding morality, but as regarding rightness. "It is about the past. And about the future. And the present. You can't separate things like that, Will. I took you in because your mother asked me to, but I damn well don't put up with your bouts of stupidity because she asked me to do that, too. She didn't, by the way. I do it because…I…like you. Savvy?"
"Yeah." The corners of Will's mouth twitched, and then he smiled shyly at Jack. The smile of the fifteen-year-old realizing that if some men were bad, then logically some had to be good. Couldn't have one without the other. "Jesus. I was a moron tonight, wasn't I?"
Jack grinned back, and clasped the other man to his side. "Yes and no. Good how you got them off of José, because you two never would've lasted where you were. Bad because then you tried to hide from us. But I'll let Jacques scold you for that."
Will winced, and tried to dig in his feet as Jack hauled them out. "Fuck. He's going to kill me…so José's okay?"
"He's fine. Bit dozy from the drugs, though." Jack hung back a moment for one last exchange before Norrington came over to join them. "What about you and him?"
Eyebrow arch, and adorably possessive look. "Mine. Keep off."
Well, now. Wasn't quite the kind that Jack would have chosen for Will, but love would have its own way, and the man could certainly do worse. Just as long as James understood all the responsibilities he'd gained. If not…
…then he'd have to take his chances with street justice, like any other around here.
***
The cat literally exploded off the bed, and that was how Jacques knew Will was back. He scrambled after the furry streak, but temporarily forgot how bound hands threw off balance and ended up tumbling to the floor. "Putain!"
//What?// José's drowsy-ruffled head peered over the edge of the bed, and then was joined by Will's puzzled face. "Will!"
"Uh…hey." The other man wore a nervous smile, and for good reason. As soon as Jacques got off his back, he was going to show Will just why going it alone was a lousy idea. "You're all right."
"Mrrrrk," Puss affirmed, hanging from Will's arms. Then he-and that was undisputable, as Jacques and José had discovered about an hour back-scrambled up to the shoulder, nervous expression identical to the one on Will's face.
"So…um…I'm sorry? Are you going to hurt me now?" Will squatted down by Jacques, looking ridiculously cute in his worry. And then it really hit that he was there, dirty and somewhat ragged about the edges, but in one piece and safe.
Something deep and twisted in Jacques' stomach suddenly unwound. He grudgingly gave in to the flood of relief that followed and hooked his arms around the other man's neck, pulling Will down into a tight hug. "Connard. I swear to God, if you ever…and you left us with the bill."
"I'll pay you back." Will tiredly grinned into Jacques' neck and collapsed on top of Jacques. "God, I need a shower. And a nap."
Feet shuffled indecisively on the carpet beyond them, and then Jacques noticed the wary British pokerass. "So you brought him back," he said over Will's shoulder.
"Yes." James seemed to realize he didn't have a place here, so he started moving toward the door. "I believe I'll-"
"Hang on a moment." Will dragged Jacques back onto the bed, had a quick embrace with an oddly amused José, and then came back to Jacques. His expression was deadly serious. "Please don't kill him. Or maim him, or anything."
Jacques made his best innocent face. "Why would I do something like that?"
"Oh, come on. I know you." Matted strands drifted over Will's eyes, and he paused to push them away. "I like him. And we…cleared up a few things on the way back."
"Really?" Skepticism flowered in Jacques' voice, and he cast Norrington a dubious glance. "Is he worth everything he's put you through so far?"
"Well, I can't find out if he'd dead, can I?" Will dryly retorted. Then he grew somber again, and leaned his forehead against Jacques'. Something in his gaze briefly flashed, bright and beautiful. "I hope so. I think so."
Apparently, it was Jacques' destiny to be thwarted in all his intentions when it came to Norrington. He racked his brain for a good reason why he shouldn't agree, but his search always returned to the sudden lightening of Will's eyes a second ago. "All right, he can have his trial period. Since it doesn't seem that Jack's objecting, either," Jacques finally said.
"Thanks." Will nuzzled Jacques' cheek, then stood up and went over to Norrington, who watched Will as if he were afraid he was looking at a mirage.
"It could be worse," José said in a mild tone, tugging Jacques back to him.
The corner of Jacques' mouth quirked in irony. "True. But that doesn't mean I have to like it yet."
***
"I should go." And James did need to leave, before the ache of seeing affection brought up any more painful echoes. But his feet simply didn't want to move, and his hands kept stealing up Will's shirt to lightly stroke the fabric.
Will glanced back at his friends, then caught James' hands and reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. I'm about to fall over."
Then he stepped in and pressed up, and the world shut itself out as James' eyelids closed. This time, the kiss was slow and exploring. Almost meditative, the way taste layered over bitter and sweet like a painter building up shading by dotting different colors on the canvas, but fierce as well, in a strange manner that stole the air from James as surely as a blow to the gut.
A content, serene expression on his face, Will drew back and smiled at him. "Ask me out to coffee for tomorrow."
"A first date after sex?" José called. "That's not how you do it."
"Is there even a coffeeshop in Tortuga?" was Jacques' rather disgruntled contribution.
Will turned around and glared. "Will the peanut gallery kindly shut the fuck up?" Silence. "Thank you."
When he pivoted back, James was ready. "Have coffee me with tomorrow. Whenever you wake up."
"Sure." Will leaned up and pecked him on the lips again, then gently pushed him out. "Later."
"Good night." Dawn was streaming in the windows, and dappling the floor in golds and reds, but somehow James couldn't find the energy to correct himself. Or to care.
***
A hand of bones burst through the smoking rubble, and then the rest of the skeleton followed in short order. Barbossa dragged out the Pearl, and was much relieved to find her untouched, though her scabbard had burnt away. He thoughtfully watched as flesh slowly crept over his bones, and as the others began to claw their way to the air. "Norrington. Yes, I remember you."
***