FIC: Hope's Sister
Here's another one of those summer drabbles that got away from me. I can only apologise for its lateness. There are, still, more to come and if you requested one, it is on its way. Just...just slowly.
Title: Hope’s Sister
For: pigeongirl99
The request: "PotC, J/W- sensory deprivation."
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If wishes were horses then I’d be sneezing because I’m allergic to horses and I’d be mad because I’d rather that wishes were the many incarnations of Johnny Depp. The idea of the fever comes unashamedly from the Little House on the Prairie series
Notes: Unbetaed. Which probably wasn’t sound thinking. It also reads like it might preface something longer. It might. If I lose my mind. Which, knowing me, is highly probable.
*~*~*~*
Hope, is an odd creature; very different from her sister, Belief.
Jack believed that he would die. He had been ill many times before in his life, but this time it was scarlet fever and in the snatches of lucid moments he had during the fever he honestly believed that it was the end of Captain Jack Sparrow and the beginning of the greatest adventure he would ever set upon - that journey to see what lay Beyond. When the fever settled in his eyes and his vision began to dim, Jack believed that he was past danger and he would live. He also believed that he was going to go blind.
However, Jack hoped, beyond reason, that he would recover.
When he could see only bright colors, then only the very brightest of lights, he still hoped that he might wake one morning and find himself healed.
Hope can break a man because the end of hope is the end of everything.
On the twentieth day of Jack’s illness he could no longer see the sun, even if he stood on deck and stared right at it. On the twentieth day, Jack was blind and hope had abandoned him.
Belief is fickle creature; very different from her steadfast sister, Hope.
Hope can break a man, but beliefs can change. On the twentieth day, Jack stood on the deck and stared at the sun that he could no longer see and for a moment he sagged against Anamaria’s arm (the only crewmember brave enough to stand by his side when the fever took him, and she had become fiercely protective until she was the only one she would allow to stand by his side).
“Well darlin’,” he said, and his voice was steady and clear. “Looks like I’m fucked.” And that was the end of Jack’s hope.
Then he sighed and put his hands on the taffrail, feeling the soul of the Pearl through the heat of her black wood and he kicked off his boots and curled his toes on the deck, letting the suck and pull of the waves move through him. He leaned forward on his elbows and took a deep breath and discovered something he had known for a long time but hadn’t thought ran quite so deep; he was a child of the sea and he could flow and ebb with the tides no matter which way the storm was blowing. In other words, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, as changeable and as unalterable as the water, come hell or high water. Jack believed that being blind didn’t matter so long as he could still be Captain Jack Sparrow, and (awful pun only partially intended) he certainly didn’t see any hell or high water.
“They’re going t’ want t’ put it to the vote.” Jack felt better than he had in a long time, even if he still felt a little cold, even out in the sun. Now he knew for sure, he didn’t have to hope or wonder. It just was. “They can’t have the Pearl.”
Anamaria put her hand in the middle of his back, comforting, supporting. “How bad is it?”
Jack smiled, slow and sad. “The worst.” He shook himself a little. “That ain’t the point. The point is that I’m a wee bit fucked, not entirely scuppered, an’ I’ve been a wee bit fucked before without lettin’ it stand in my way.”
She made a sound of confusion. “Jack, Cap’n, you can’t see. How’re you s’pposed t’ navigate, or fight? You can’ even see where you’re goin’.”
He glared at a spot a little to her left. “I know this ship better’n I know the back of my own hand, so don’t tell me I can’t find my way around me own fucking ship,” he snapped. “I know these waters too. Christ, woman, give me time. I’ve only just…Just give me a little time.” Jack walked away, and he was right, though he was still weak from the fever he could find his way around the Pearl without his eyesight perfectly fine.
Anamaria trailed after him, picking up his boots as she went. “I don’ t’ink they’ll stand up for it. But I’m with you anyway.”
When Jack had asked Gibbs to find him a crew Gibbs had proclaimed that he could find men as crazy as Jack. He was as good as his word. They had followed him to a treasure that many didn’t believe existed, against a crew that wouldn’t die. They had broken the Code to come back for him. They hadn’t thrown him off the Pearl to sweat himself half to death somewhere else. Now, when Jack believed his brilliant plan for not letting life kick him in the balls might fail, they proved their loyalty and madness by following Anamaria and sticking behind Jack.
On the twentieth day of his illness, Jack went blind. On the twenty-first day, the Pearl set sail with a blind captain at her helm and a woman for first mate by his side, searching the seven seas for a new crewmember - Captain’s aide - as well as their usual quest for treasure and adventure (though the latter wasn’t strictly required, because most of the crew were somewhat adventured out after their little jaunt with the previous crew of the Pearl).
A little less than a fortnight later and the Pearl was moored and her crew was ashore busy spending their coin on getting as drunk as humanly possible. Inside a dingy little tavern Jack was becoming a great philosopher now that he had swallowed down his third mug of ale. Anamaria sat by him, one eye on her ale, the other on her slightly inebriated captain. She was paying as little attention as possible to his philosophies but since she was sitting right next to him, he was slightly hard to ignore. He had found himself with something of an audience because, as it turned out, there were plenty of men willing to go a little bit crazy if the payoff was an island full of treasure. Not that Jack was hiring crew, but he did enjoy the sound of his own voice and so long as they were keeping him supplied with drinks, he’d be happy to entertain them.
“So y’ see,” Jack explained as Anamaria rolled her eyes. “I believe that this might be the weakest pint I’ve ever had the misfortune of drinkin’ but I hope that it’ll get better, though I believe that it won’t, unless I get meself properly drunk, which I can’t because it’s piss-poor ale.” His audience looked baffled. “D’ you follow?”
They were saved from having to respond by an incredulous; “Jack?” from across the room.
Jack lifted his head and his eyes still scanned back and forth as though he could see. Anamaria leaned in, just a little, and hissed, “It’s Bootstrap’s boy,” under her breath.
Jack waved her away. “’Course it is,” he replied, as though it was usual for him to find sons of long lost friends wandering about in pirate haunts, and never mind that said sons were respectable blacksmiths and Not Pirates At All. “Will, lad, pull up a stool an’ give me the news from Port Royal. ‘Ow’s Norrington, eh? Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Anamaria wasn’t entirely sure if the little remarks that Jack kept making about seeing, or having seen someone were in jest or not, or if he just hadn’t been bothered to change his figure of speech. She didn’t laugh, figuring it was best not to offend him if they weren’t. His temper was somewhat quicker as he often found himself frustrated by the simplest of things.
There were the sounds of a stool being dragged across a dirty, sticky floor and then the heavy sigh of a man too tired to stand any longer as Will sat down. “He’s…Still looking for you when the Admiralty doesn’t have him jumping hoops now that we’re at war again.” Will drank deeply from his tankard. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there for about half a year. I’d rather not discuss it,” he said, preempting Jack’s next question.
Jack scratched at his chin thoughtfully then frowned. He’d not been able to shave for almost a month and he had the horrible impression that it had grown wildly out of control and was starting to look less dashing and more like something found on a Wildman from the woods. “’S that so? I must confess, I’m a bit behind on all the news. D’ you recon there’s…shite. Never mind.” He shook his head, self-depreciatingly. “Can’t believe I almost said that.”
Will grunted, in a non-committal sort of way. He seemed decidedly uninterested in what Jack was, or wasn’t going to say. Jack’s audience began to wander away, bored, and when the last of them were gone Will slumped down further in his chair. Finally he said, “You look terrible, Jack,” but it sounded as though he was smiling as he said it.
“Been through a rough patch,” Jack said glibly, “but ‘m almost back on an even keel. You don’ sound so wonderful yourself.”
“You…” Will laughed bitterly and took another drink. “You wouldn’t have any space on the Pearl for a blacksmith would you?”
Jack smiled, half friendly, half thoughtful. “F’r how long?”
Will shrugged. “Until you remember that I’m not a sailor, by any stretch of the imagination, and kick me off.”
Anamaria glared at Will, Jack could feel it and it wasn’t even directed at him. “You pretty good with the…” She waved a hand expressively. “The day t’ day shite.”
He started, as though he hadn’t really noticed who it was, then he gave a little bow. “I beg your pardon, Anamaria,” he said politely. “I didn’t recognize you with your hair all…gone.”
She ran a hand over the remains of her hair. There was only about an inch or two left - depending on where on her head it was - and it stuck out at all angles. She looked like an extremely pretty young man, or a Tom. Will supposed, in the end, she just looked like Anamaria, pirate. “Stops fever from spreading,” she said succinctly.
“Ah,” Will replied, as though he knew what she was talking about. “I’m not sure what the, uh, day to day shite entails, but I’m a quick study.”
Jack tipped his hat back off his face and gave Will’s right ear a stern look. “You repeat this an’ I’ll toss y’ in the sea an’ leave y’ there, got it?” When Will didn’t say anything Jack opened his eyes a little wider. The candlelight glinted off the gold in his hair and grim smile, but his eyes were flat and dim.
Will sucked in a breath. “Christ.”
“Can’t see a damn thing,” Jack said quietly. “Fuckin’ scarlet fever. Anamaria’s been pickin’ up my slack but that ain’t her job an’ I need someone who-”
“I’ll do it.” Will touched Jack’s sleeve hesitantly. “If you’ll have me.”
It was Anamaria who squinted at him, unsure. “You gonna be patient enough?” she demanded. “You gonna make sure his shirt’s on right way round, an’ you gonna paint his eyes, an’ read him ‘is books, an’-”
“I’ll do it.” Will drained his mug. “I’m sure he’ll be quick to let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”
Jack sucked on a tooth and then shrugged. “Suits me, I s’pose.”
And that was that.
Of course, that turned out to be a little less simple than Will had anticipated. Anamaria professed a desire to stay ashore but then suggested in a stern sort of way, that Jack was drunk and perhaps it would be best if he and Will fucked off back to the Pearl. Will took the hint and then took Jack’s arm. Jack responded by hooking his arm about Will’s waist.
“A’ight lad,” he said, suddenly sounding tired. “Let’s go home.”
Will led Jack through the crowd, which was a simple enough business with Jack holding onto his waist and one of Will’s arms around Jack’s shoulders. What made it difficult for Will were the few catcalls and jeers that came their way. Jack fended them off with a few off-color remarks of his own and a couple of winks and grins. Then, when they were almost out, he responded to a comment about his and Will’s habits in bed by grabbing Will’s arse and Will had to grind his teeth together to keep from either smacking Jack or the person who had caused the problem in the first place.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded, when they were outside in the relative quiet of the street.
Jack’s ambling walk made leading him difficult, but Will discovered if he just let Jack flail about he could keep them in line by just having one hand in the small of Jack’s back.
“Better’n announcing I can’t see me own fuckin’ hand in front of me face,” Jack muttered, then grinned. “Y’ should’ve heard ‘em when t’was Anamaria. They’d no idea what she was an’ half the time they got it all wrong. Made for some interestin’ suggestions which are entirely anatomically impossible.” He lapsed back into silence, concentrating on where they were going.
Will noticed how thin he’d become under his greatcoat and how he seemed to tire after a few streets. By the time they’d rowed the jollyboat to the Pearl and climbed on deck Jack was clearly exhausted though he didn’t say anything. He just walked, easy as you please, to his cabin and then collapsed onto his bunk.
“Christ Jesus,” he breathed setting his hat onto the floor, which probably explained why it was looking a little squashed. “It ain’t so simple these days, I’ll tell you that much.”
Will examined the cabin’s layout and shook his head. “We’re going to have to move everything around,” he said finally. “Then you’ll be able to find everything. Right now there’s too much all over. And it’s no good putting your hat there, you’ll step on it when you get out of bed, and God, no wonder your bed is such a mess if you wear your boots while you’re sleeping.”
Jack laughed, wiggling a finger through a frayed patch in his shirt. “I think you an’ I are going t’ fight like cats n’ dogs over this, but I think you’ll do a fine job.”
“What you need,” Will said, picking up Jack’s hat, “is a system. For now, your hat can go on this side table, and all the…I don’t even know what this is. Whatever it is can go in the corner to be sorted out later. Now take off your boots you filthy creature and we’ll put them under the table, by your hat. And your coat too.” He took the offending items from Jack, who suddenly looked old and tired. “I may as well darn your shirt tonight.”
Jack blinked slowly. “I don’ know where needle an’ thread are.” He pulled the shirt off anyway, and Will winced to see how the fever had stripped him of weight he couldn’t afford to lose.
Will examined the hole and then folded the shirt and set it next to the hat. “Never mind, I’ll ask Anamaria tomorrow.” He gave Jack a long look. “Would you like me to see if I can find a razor and some soap?” he asked slowly, unsure how Jack would take it.
“God, yes.” Jack rubbed at his face with a moue of distaste. “An’ unless I miss my guess, there’s a near full bottle of rum under the big cabinet that wouldn’t go amiss.”
He wasn’t wrong and soon enough Jack was settled in one of the heavy chairs that sat around the table drinking rum from the bottle as Will carefully scraped the majority of the beard off of him. Will then trimmed down what was left to a respectable length. He untied the beads from the bottom of Jack’s goatee and combed it out before trimming, re-braiding, and re-beading it. Underneath the hat, Jack’s hair had fallen into a state of disrepair as well, so Will brushed out the sections that were still brushable and made sure all of Jack’s trinkets were in securely. Then he used the damp cloth to wipe away the mess of eyeblack from off Jack’s face.
Jack grinned at him, truly drunk now. “Y’re try’na make me respectable like, eh lad?” He slumped down in the chair, head tipped back. “Good boy like you shouldn’t be fuckin’ about on the Pearl with her ruined Captain.”
Will took the opportunity to wipe all the dirt from Jack’s face and took the almost empty bottle away from him. “Anamaria would give you a slap for that, I’ll wager.” He gave Jack an appraising look. He was gaunt and a little pale under his tan but he was mostly clean - probably from cold baths at the height of his fever - and with a little sleep and a few weeks of second helpings, he’d be back to his usual self soon enough. “You look fine to me, except you’re clearly drunk.” Will hauled Jack to his feet. “Now shut up and go to bed.”
Jack stumbled a little. “Ta, Will,” he said touching his own face to check what Will had done. “You’re a good lad.”
“And you said that.” He steered Jack towards his bunk, settling him down under the dirty sheets. “I’ll go find a spare hammock below, and I’ll see you in the morning. Sorry.”
Jack didn’t seem to notice Will’s little verbal misstep and caught hold of his wrist in an oddly accurate grab. “Don’ leave,” he said. His eyes looked too wide and too bare without their usual spark and kohl. There was a sort of drunken desperation in his voice as well as he struggled upright, not letting go. “God, Will, I can’t wake up like this again. I can’t wake up an’ be alone in the dark.”
Will flinched. “All right, Jack. Move over then.” He kicked off his own shoes and climbed into the bed next to Jack. Whatever else Barbossa had been, he’d had a very odd idea about what was and was not appropriate furniture for a ship and the bed was easily wide enough for two. Despite this excess of room, no sooner had Will lain down, then Jack curled up around him, pressing his face into the curve of Will’s neck.
“Ta,” he said again and, to all appearances, passed out.
Will frowned and prodded at the comatose pirate, earning himself a snore in response. Jack didn’t budge; one arm over Will’s chest, one leg curled up over Will’s thigh and Will finally gave up. He lay for a moment, wondering what it would be like to wake up and know that no matter how wide he opened his eyes he wouldn’t be able to see and turned to look at Jack. He thought of his own troubles and decided that helping Jack sort out his life seemed preferable to brooding. With that in mind, Will shut his own eyes and went to sleep.
Title: Hope’s Sister
For: pigeongirl99
The request: "PotC, J/W- sensory deprivation."
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If wishes were horses then I’d be sneezing because I’m allergic to horses and I’d be mad because I’d rather that wishes were the many incarnations of Johnny Depp. The idea of the fever comes unashamedly from the Little House on the Prairie series
Notes: Unbetaed. Which probably wasn’t sound thinking. It also reads like it might preface something longer. It might. If I lose my mind. Which, knowing me, is highly probable.
*~*~*~*
Hope, is an odd creature; very different from her sister, Belief.
Jack believed that he would die. He had been ill many times before in his life, but this time it was scarlet fever and in the snatches of lucid moments he had during the fever he honestly believed that it was the end of Captain Jack Sparrow and the beginning of the greatest adventure he would ever set upon - that journey to see what lay Beyond. When the fever settled in his eyes and his vision began to dim, Jack believed that he was past danger and he would live. He also believed that he was going to go blind.
However, Jack hoped, beyond reason, that he would recover.
When he could see only bright colors, then only the very brightest of lights, he still hoped that he might wake one morning and find himself healed.
Hope can break a man because the end of hope is the end of everything.
On the twentieth day of Jack’s illness he could no longer see the sun, even if he stood on deck and stared right at it. On the twentieth day, Jack was blind and hope had abandoned him.
Belief is fickle creature; very different from her steadfast sister, Hope.
Hope can break a man, but beliefs can change. On the twentieth day, Jack stood on the deck and stared at the sun that he could no longer see and for a moment he sagged against Anamaria’s arm (the only crewmember brave enough to stand by his side when the fever took him, and she had become fiercely protective until she was the only one she would allow to stand by his side).
“Well darlin’,” he said, and his voice was steady and clear. “Looks like I’m fucked.” And that was the end of Jack’s hope.
Then he sighed and put his hands on the taffrail, feeling the soul of the Pearl through the heat of her black wood and he kicked off his boots and curled his toes on the deck, letting the suck and pull of the waves move through him. He leaned forward on his elbows and took a deep breath and discovered something he had known for a long time but hadn’t thought ran quite so deep; he was a child of the sea and he could flow and ebb with the tides no matter which way the storm was blowing. In other words, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, as changeable and as unalterable as the water, come hell or high water. Jack believed that being blind didn’t matter so long as he could still be Captain Jack Sparrow, and (awful pun only partially intended) he certainly didn’t see any hell or high water.
“They’re going t’ want t’ put it to the vote.” Jack felt better than he had in a long time, even if he still felt a little cold, even out in the sun. Now he knew for sure, he didn’t have to hope or wonder. It just was. “They can’t have the Pearl.”
Anamaria put her hand in the middle of his back, comforting, supporting. “How bad is it?”
Jack smiled, slow and sad. “The worst.” He shook himself a little. “That ain’t the point. The point is that I’m a wee bit fucked, not entirely scuppered, an’ I’ve been a wee bit fucked before without lettin’ it stand in my way.”
She made a sound of confusion. “Jack, Cap’n, you can’t see. How’re you s’pposed t’ navigate, or fight? You can’ even see where you’re goin’.”
He glared at a spot a little to her left. “I know this ship better’n I know the back of my own hand, so don’t tell me I can’t find my way around me own fucking ship,” he snapped. “I know these waters too. Christ, woman, give me time. I’ve only just…Just give me a little time.” Jack walked away, and he was right, though he was still weak from the fever he could find his way around the Pearl without his eyesight perfectly fine.
Anamaria trailed after him, picking up his boots as she went. “I don’ t’ink they’ll stand up for it. But I’m with you anyway.”
When Jack had asked Gibbs to find him a crew Gibbs had proclaimed that he could find men as crazy as Jack. He was as good as his word. They had followed him to a treasure that many didn’t believe existed, against a crew that wouldn’t die. They had broken the Code to come back for him. They hadn’t thrown him off the Pearl to sweat himself half to death somewhere else. Now, when Jack believed his brilliant plan for not letting life kick him in the balls might fail, they proved their loyalty and madness by following Anamaria and sticking behind Jack.
On the twentieth day of his illness, Jack went blind. On the twenty-first day, the Pearl set sail with a blind captain at her helm and a woman for first mate by his side, searching the seven seas for a new crewmember - Captain’s aide - as well as their usual quest for treasure and adventure (though the latter wasn’t strictly required, because most of the crew were somewhat adventured out after their little jaunt with the previous crew of the Pearl).
A little less than a fortnight later and the Pearl was moored and her crew was ashore busy spending their coin on getting as drunk as humanly possible. Inside a dingy little tavern Jack was becoming a great philosopher now that he had swallowed down his third mug of ale. Anamaria sat by him, one eye on her ale, the other on her slightly inebriated captain. She was paying as little attention as possible to his philosophies but since she was sitting right next to him, he was slightly hard to ignore. He had found himself with something of an audience because, as it turned out, there were plenty of men willing to go a little bit crazy if the payoff was an island full of treasure. Not that Jack was hiring crew, but he did enjoy the sound of his own voice and so long as they were keeping him supplied with drinks, he’d be happy to entertain them.
“So y’ see,” Jack explained as Anamaria rolled her eyes. “I believe that this might be the weakest pint I’ve ever had the misfortune of drinkin’ but I hope that it’ll get better, though I believe that it won’t, unless I get meself properly drunk, which I can’t because it’s piss-poor ale.” His audience looked baffled. “D’ you follow?”
They were saved from having to respond by an incredulous; “Jack?” from across the room.
Jack lifted his head and his eyes still scanned back and forth as though he could see. Anamaria leaned in, just a little, and hissed, “It’s Bootstrap’s boy,” under her breath.
Jack waved her away. “’Course it is,” he replied, as though it was usual for him to find sons of long lost friends wandering about in pirate haunts, and never mind that said sons were respectable blacksmiths and Not Pirates At All. “Will, lad, pull up a stool an’ give me the news from Port Royal. ‘Ow’s Norrington, eh? Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Anamaria wasn’t entirely sure if the little remarks that Jack kept making about seeing, or having seen someone were in jest or not, or if he just hadn’t been bothered to change his figure of speech. She didn’t laugh, figuring it was best not to offend him if they weren’t. His temper was somewhat quicker as he often found himself frustrated by the simplest of things.
There were the sounds of a stool being dragged across a dirty, sticky floor and then the heavy sigh of a man too tired to stand any longer as Will sat down. “He’s…Still looking for you when the Admiralty doesn’t have him jumping hoops now that we’re at war again.” Will drank deeply from his tankard. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there for about half a year. I’d rather not discuss it,” he said, preempting Jack’s next question.
Jack scratched at his chin thoughtfully then frowned. He’d not been able to shave for almost a month and he had the horrible impression that it had grown wildly out of control and was starting to look less dashing and more like something found on a Wildman from the woods. “’S that so? I must confess, I’m a bit behind on all the news. D’ you recon there’s…shite. Never mind.” He shook his head, self-depreciatingly. “Can’t believe I almost said that.”
Will grunted, in a non-committal sort of way. He seemed decidedly uninterested in what Jack was, or wasn’t going to say. Jack’s audience began to wander away, bored, and when the last of them were gone Will slumped down further in his chair. Finally he said, “You look terrible, Jack,” but it sounded as though he was smiling as he said it.
“Been through a rough patch,” Jack said glibly, “but ‘m almost back on an even keel. You don’ sound so wonderful yourself.”
“You…” Will laughed bitterly and took another drink. “You wouldn’t have any space on the Pearl for a blacksmith would you?”
Jack smiled, half friendly, half thoughtful. “F’r how long?”
Will shrugged. “Until you remember that I’m not a sailor, by any stretch of the imagination, and kick me off.”
Anamaria glared at Will, Jack could feel it and it wasn’t even directed at him. “You pretty good with the…” She waved a hand expressively. “The day t’ day shite.”
He started, as though he hadn’t really noticed who it was, then he gave a little bow. “I beg your pardon, Anamaria,” he said politely. “I didn’t recognize you with your hair all…gone.”
She ran a hand over the remains of her hair. There was only about an inch or two left - depending on where on her head it was - and it stuck out at all angles. She looked like an extremely pretty young man, or a Tom. Will supposed, in the end, she just looked like Anamaria, pirate. “Stops fever from spreading,” she said succinctly.
“Ah,” Will replied, as though he knew what she was talking about. “I’m not sure what the, uh, day to day shite entails, but I’m a quick study.”
Jack tipped his hat back off his face and gave Will’s right ear a stern look. “You repeat this an’ I’ll toss y’ in the sea an’ leave y’ there, got it?” When Will didn’t say anything Jack opened his eyes a little wider. The candlelight glinted off the gold in his hair and grim smile, but his eyes were flat and dim.
Will sucked in a breath. “Christ.”
“Can’t see a damn thing,” Jack said quietly. “Fuckin’ scarlet fever. Anamaria’s been pickin’ up my slack but that ain’t her job an’ I need someone who-”
“I’ll do it.” Will touched Jack’s sleeve hesitantly. “If you’ll have me.”
It was Anamaria who squinted at him, unsure. “You gonna be patient enough?” she demanded. “You gonna make sure his shirt’s on right way round, an’ you gonna paint his eyes, an’ read him ‘is books, an’-”
“I’ll do it.” Will drained his mug. “I’m sure he’ll be quick to let me know if I’m doing something wrong.”
Jack sucked on a tooth and then shrugged. “Suits me, I s’pose.”
And that was that.
Of course, that turned out to be a little less simple than Will had anticipated. Anamaria professed a desire to stay ashore but then suggested in a stern sort of way, that Jack was drunk and perhaps it would be best if he and Will fucked off back to the Pearl. Will took the hint and then took Jack’s arm. Jack responded by hooking his arm about Will’s waist.
“A’ight lad,” he said, suddenly sounding tired. “Let’s go home.”
Will led Jack through the crowd, which was a simple enough business with Jack holding onto his waist and one of Will’s arms around Jack’s shoulders. What made it difficult for Will were the few catcalls and jeers that came their way. Jack fended them off with a few off-color remarks of his own and a couple of winks and grins. Then, when they were almost out, he responded to a comment about his and Will’s habits in bed by grabbing Will’s arse and Will had to grind his teeth together to keep from either smacking Jack or the person who had caused the problem in the first place.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded, when they were outside in the relative quiet of the street.
Jack’s ambling walk made leading him difficult, but Will discovered if he just let Jack flail about he could keep them in line by just having one hand in the small of Jack’s back.
“Better’n announcing I can’t see me own fuckin’ hand in front of me face,” Jack muttered, then grinned. “Y’ should’ve heard ‘em when t’was Anamaria. They’d no idea what she was an’ half the time they got it all wrong. Made for some interestin’ suggestions which are entirely anatomically impossible.” He lapsed back into silence, concentrating on where they were going.
Will noticed how thin he’d become under his greatcoat and how he seemed to tire after a few streets. By the time they’d rowed the jollyboat to the Pearl and climbed on deck Jack was clearly exhausted though he didn’t say anything. He just walked, easy as you please, to his cabin and then collapsed onto his bunk.
“Christ Jesus,” he breathed setting his hat onto the floor, which probably explained why it was looking a little squashed. “It ain’t so simple these days, I’ll tell you that much.”
Will examined the cabin’s layout and shook his head. “We’re going to have to move everything around,” he said finally. “Then you’ll be able to find everything. Right now there’s too much all over. And it’s no good putting your hat there, you’ll step on it when you get out of bed, and God, no wonder your bed is such a mess if you wear your boots while you’re sleeping.”
Jack laughed, wiggling a finger through a frayed patch in his shirt. “I think you an’ I are going t’ fight like cats n’ dogs over this, but I think you’ll do a fine job.”
“What you need,” Will said, picking up Jack’s hat, “is a system. For now, your hat can go on this side table, and all the…I don’t even know what this is. Whatever it is can go in the corner to be sorted out later. Now take off your boots you filthy creature and we’ll put them under the table, by your hat. And your coat too.” He took the offending items from Jack, who suddenly looked old and tired. “I may as well darn your shirt tonight.”
Jack blinked slowly. “I don’ know where needle an’ thread are.” He pulled the shirt off anyway, and Will winced to see how the fever had stripped him of weight he couldn’t afford to lose.
Will examined the hole and then folded the shirt and set it next to the hat. “Never mind, I’ll ask Anamaria tomorrow.” He gave Jack a long look. “Would you like me to see if I can find a razor and some soap?” he asked slowly, unsure how Jack would take it.
“God, yes.” Jack rubbed at his face with a moue of distaste. “An’ unless I miss my guess, there’s a near full bottle of rum under the big cabinet that wouldn’t go amiss.”
He wasn’t wrong and soon enough Jack was settled in one of the heavy chairs that sat around the table drinking rum from the bottle as Will carefully scraped the majority of the beard off of him. Will then trimmed down what was left to a respectable length. He untied the beads from the bottom of Jack’s goatee and combed it out before trimming, re-braiding, and re-beading it. Underneath the hat, Jack’s hair had fallen into a state of disrepair as well, so Will brushed out the sections that were still brushable and made sure all of Jack’s trinkets were in securely. Then he used the damp cloth to wipe away the mess of eyeblack from off Jack’s face.
Jack grinned at him, truly drunk now. “Y’re try’na make me respectable like, eh lad?” He slumped down in the chair, head tipped back. “Good boy like you shouldn’t be fuckin’ about on the Pearl with her ruined Captain.”
Will took the opportunity to wipe all the dirt from Jack’s face and took the almost empty bottle away from him. “Anamaria would give you a slap for that, I’ll wager.” He gave Jack an appraising look. He was gaunt and a little pale under his tan but he was mostly clean - probably from cold baths at the height of his fever - and with a little sleep and a few weeks of second helpings, he’d be back to his usual self soon enough. “You look fine to me, except you’re clearly drunk.” Will hauled Jack to his feet. “Now shut up and go to bed.”
Jack stumbled a little. “Ta, Will,” he said touching his own face to check what Will had done. “You’re a good lad.”
“And you said that.” He steered Jack towards his bunk, settling him down under the dirty sheets. “I’ll go find a spare hammock below, and I’ll see you in the morning. Sorry.”
Jack didn’t seem to notice Will’s little verbal misstep and caught hold of his wrist in an oddly accurate grab. “Don’ leave,” he said. His eyes looked too wide and too bare without their usual spark and kohl. There was a sort of drunken desperation in his voice as well as he struggled upright, not letting go. “God, Will, I can’t wake up like this again. I can’t wake up an’ be alone in the dark.”
Will flinched. “All right, Jack. Move over then.” He kicked off his own shoes and climbed into the bed next to Jack. Whatever else Barbossa had been, he’d had a very odd idea about what was and was not appropriate furniture for a ship and the bed was easily wide enough for two. Despite this excess of room, no sooner had Will lain down, then Jack curled up around him, pressing his face into the curve of Will’s neck.
“Ta,” he said again and, to all appearances, passed out.
Will frowned and prodded at the comatose pirate, earning himself a snore in response. Jack didn’t budge; one arm over Will’s chest, one leg curled up over Will’s thigh and Will finally gave up. He lay for a moment, wondering what it would be like to wake up and know that no matter how wide he opened his eyes he wouldn’t be able to see and turned to look at Jack. He thought of his own troubles and decided that helping Jack sort out his life seemed preferable to brooding. With that in mind, Will shut his own eyes and went to sleep.