Author: MizzMarvel (MizzMarvelUE@aol.com)
Pairing: Will Turner/Jack Sparrow
Category: Drama, Angst
Summary: During the brief reunion of Will and Jack, rum is dispensed freely while feelings are hidden.
Disclaimer: They ain't be mine, me hearties. Arrr.
Notes: My first PotC fic.
The pounding of the hammer and his master's drunken snores drowned out all other noise as Will Turner carefully crafted yet another exquisite sword. Licking the salty sweat from his upper lip, he wondered vaguely how it would be like soon, to never have to roughen his hands with such work again, once he was married to Elizabeth; her social status demanded a husband who did not labor. The firm reality of the tools in his hands, the perspiration glimmering on his skin, and the ache in his bones made such wonderings feel more distant than they truly were.
Lost in thought and sound, Will did not hear the swaggering footsteps behind him. His eyes were on his work still, and so he was oblivious until he felt the cautionary jab of a pistol to his lower back. Startled, he gasped, dropping both hammer and half-finished sword on the anvil. The clattering of metal against metal could not shock Will into moving, and neither did it make the guest pull back his weapon.
Slowly, Will raised his empty hands, staring wide-eyed into the shadows of the shop before him. His mind searched for some sort of plan, but momentarily came up blank. He swallowed hard, and tried to remain calm.
"Who - ?" he started to inquire, but was immediately interrupted.
"Avast!" came a cheerful and familiar voice.
Relief flooded Will's body, and he dropped his hands, laughing. He whirled around.
Sparrow, unchanged after months away, pulled back his pistol and slipped it under the sash around his waist. He sighed heavily, but was not able to suppress his smirking grin.
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow."
Will's smile twitched.
"Of course it is," he replied, and without thinking clasped the pirate in a friendly embrace. "How have you been?"
Sparrow's body stiffened momentarily before he awkwardly patted Will on the back.
"Good, good. I've got the Pearl, and now the world's my oyster, as it were."
The younger man pulled away and, for the first time, gave Sparrow a critical once-over.
"And with all that plundering, it seems you haven't found the time to get a new wardrobe." He wrinkled his nose. "Or at least clean this one."
"I strive for comfort. But you..." His gaze followed the lean curve of Will's body from head to toe. "'Pears someone's stumbled into a tailor's shop."
Will blushed and shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms in an unconscious effort to hide his new, nearly gaudy attire. Even while working, his clothing was anything but plain.
"Well, you see, now that Elizabeth and I are betrothed, I..."
"Have to look the part, hmm?"
"'S too bad, really. And I miss the hat." Sparrow turned around, idly surveying the array of weaponry. "So, you'll be making an honest woman of the lass?"
"Yes," Will answered eagerly, glad for the slight change of subject. "In a few months."
The captain turned to face Will again, and threw his hand into the air.
"Ah, it's a cause for celebration then!" he cried, with the faintest trace of scorn in his voice. "I should buy you a drink."
"That's good of you," Will said politely, thinking of Elizabeth's sudden strong revulsion to spirits. "But I..."
"And looky here," Sparrow interrupted, pulling a bottle of rum from the inside pocket of his coat. "Seems I already have."
Well, Will couldn't very well say no to that.
Sparrow grasped the bottle's cork to pull it out, but Will clasped his arm, nervously glancing at the elder blacksmith, who still slouched in a puddle of drink.
"No here. If anything will wake him up, it's the sound of a bottle uncorking. If we must drink, let's go to my room."
The pirate looked at him in surprise, then nodded.
"All right then."
Sparrow looked completely out of place in Will's small room, which was tucked away in the back of the shop and was surprisingly neat. He slouched in a straight-backed chair, swigging from his bottle and from time to time refilling his host's mug.
The rum was strong and hard to swallow at first, but Will discovered he liked the harsh burn after awhile; it warmed his belly. He lounged casually on his bed, a few feet away from Sparrow, and gulped down his drinks. Soon, it became harder and harder to form his thoughts, though he couldn't quite understand why.
Conversation came as easily as could be expected, considering the pirate's propensity to not make any sense whatsoever. Will spoke of his impending nuptials to Elizabeth, omitting details of his so-far painful introduction to society life. Sparrow told of the freedom of the seas and his Pearl, declining to comment on his unexpected boredom with a life without a quest, a lover who wouldn't slap him, or a person who could match his own strengths.
"How d' ya sleep?" Sparrow asked at one point, pointing the bottle towards the bed.
Will looked down at it, apparently having forgotten it was there.
"Same as everyone else," he answered, barely slurring, but still drunk. "Jus' happens."
"No, I mean, on land. Without the waves to rock you to sleep, like you was a wee babe in a cradle."
The boy contemplated that, and found he didn't have an answer. The idea was more than enticing; after his adventure with the captain, it seemed he'd had a lot of trouble getting to sleep at night.
"I don't know."
Sparrow sighed, and looked out the tiny window just above his right shoulder. From there, the glimmer of the sea could be seen in the pale moonlight.
"Can never sleep, not on land. I need my waves, need my Pearl."
"As I need Elizabeth," Will said dutifully, though his words lacked the conviction they'd had in the past.
Sparrow sighed again.
A few silent minutes passed by, in which the comfort of being in each other's presence slowly diminished. Finally, after a large swallow, the captain said off-handedly:
"I was goin' ta ask if you'd want to come aboard the Pearl." He looked out the window, away from Will. "Be one of my mates. But you've got your girl, yeah? Everything you want." There was a small sneer in his words, almost a challenge.
"Yes," Will murmured, unable to hide or understand the doubt in his voice. "I suppose I do."
He threw his head back, downing the last of his rum, then held out his mug for more. His mood having darkened, Sparrow obliged and filled it.
Perhaps it was a dream, and perhaps it was not, when Will heard movement in his room at the early hours of the morning, with a headache and the stink of liquor in the air. He sensed a form lean over him, watching him, and the smell of rum grew markedly stronger.
"Never would've worked out between us anyway," he heard someone mutter, just over his face.
Then he felt lips press against his own briefly, lips chapped, maybe, from the sun and wind and strong sea air. Then they were gone, and footsteps headed towards the door, which opened and closed with a small creak.
When Will awoke for certain, the sun was higher in the sky, and he could hear the sounds of people outside. The morning was still early, but when the boy sat up, he found that the captain was no longer dozing in the chair as he'd left him. He rubbed his eyes, the headache pounding unbearably, as he swung his feet over the bed and jerkily walked to the window.
From there, he could see the sea, as he always could. Ships were at harbor, and others were not docked at all, but were either on their way to or arriving from some exotic location, where life could be an adventure and needn't include powdered wigs.
He licked his lips and stared out at the sea. One ship was farther out than most, clearly heading away from the port. It was far away, of course, but Will had the sharp sailor's eyes of his father, and he could make out the tell-tale black sails.
A yearning washed over him, and this time he understood it too well.
"Fly, Sparrow, fly," Will whispered as he watched the Black Pearl sail into the boundless freedom of the Caribbean and past the horizon.