Jack's Cure

(A/N: Just that in this chapter, Will and Elizabeth make reference to Commodore Norrington as “James.” Don’t let it confuse you)

Will’s body was taxed and sore with the stress of a hard day’s work. Sweaty and quite covered in grime and soot from the smithy, he wearily climbed the stairs, intent on washing up and slipping into bed. He of course expected that Elizabeth would be asleep. She had been asleep every night when he returned home for at least three weeks (or so he thought). The truth of the matter was that his young wife had wanted to defer any more awkwardness between them and therefore feigned sleep when she heard Will enter the house each evening.
Which was WillWill was shocked to find her sitting up in bed, candle still lit as she glanced over a small, leather bound book. She looked up immediately when she heard him enter the room and Will felt his stomach wrench. The look on her face all but screamed that she was about to give it to him full force and there was not a thing he could do about it.

“E-Elizabeth?” he murmured, dark eyes screwing up slightly as though he were a child caught doing something naughty.

“William, this can’t go on any longer,” she said sternly, shutting the book and putting it aside. “It’s been almost a month, Will,” she continued, her tone sningning somewhat as she took in the shameful look on her husband’s face.

“I’m sorry--” Will began.

“Don’t apologize! I’m tired of hearing apologies. It isn’t your fault, Will. But a thought came to me the other night,” she explained carefully, patting Will’s side of the bed, beckoning him.

“Oh?” Will managed to squeak nervously.

“Why don’t you ask Jack for advice? I’m sure he would be more than happy help and--”

“Jack?! Jack *Sparrow*?” Will retorted incredulously.

“Yes, Jack Sparrow,” Elizabeth replied calmly.

“But-- but- I thought you despised Jack, called him despicable, vile, a lout and-- and--”

“Which is precisely why I believe he must know a way to remedy this problem, William,” Elizabeth interjected evenly.

Will’s expression turned quizzical, “Not sure I follow…”

Sighing, Elizabeth tried to explain, “Jack is a *pirate*, darling.”

“Yes, I knew that.”

“Well, he *knows* things!” she snapped, a blush coloring her cheeks quite suddenly.

“How do you know he *knows* things?” Will inquired guilelessly.

Elizabeth made a sound of frustration, “Because the man is a complete *scoundrel,* William.”

“And you want me to ask his advice on being a scoundrel?” Will blinked several times.

“Oh, would you stop being difficult! I’m sure he’ll know a way to… er-- help… the-- problem… that…you seem to be-- having.”

“Well-- erm…”

“What is it, Will?”

“How am I to go about finding Jack? The Black Pearl could be in-- in-- Singapore, for all we know,” Will explained haplessly.

“Mmn, no, the Black Pearl is anchored just outside the harbor. Arrived there yesterday.”

“What?!”

“I was going to tell you, but we barely see each other anymore. Anyhow, Jack was arrested last night. I’ve spoken to James and he says if you come by early tomorrow to fetch him he’ll look the other way for the… misconduct. Which is really quite generous, considering what Jack did,” Elizabeth murmured fretfully, picking up her book once more.

“Why am I always the last to be informed of these things? And what did Jack do to Norrington now?” Will inquired, nearly afraid to hear the answer.

“He was drunk… as per usual… and he-- slapped James,” Elizabeth explained.WillWill looked horror-struck.

“On the rear,” Elizabeth added with a wince.

Will’s eyes rolled heavenward and he shook his head with a sigh, “I’m surprised the Commodore didn’t shoot him on sight.”

Elizabeth’s mocha eyes roved over her husband’s weary form as he combed his fingers through sable locks.

“Will, darling… why don’t you come to bed and… well-- maybe we don’t even need Jack’s help--”

“I’ll be down to the jail first thing in the morning. I’m just going to go get cleaned up… don’t wait, love!” Will called over his shoulder as he headed out of the room rather hurriedly.

Elizabeth gave a groan and turned over under the sheets, trying to escape her frustration in sleep.
____________________________________________________________________________________

It is said that there is no rest for the wicked, and if that be the case, Jack Sparrow must have been the most wicked man ever to grace sea or shore, for he had not slept a wink in the past two days, what with his first mate screeching at him each time he began to doze off. Normally when he did a stint in prison it was a time of introspection, a time to dwell on what he had done to get there, or past events that had proved mildly amusing. Or at least get some bloody shut eye! None of that was accomplished when at every waking moment (which was EVERY moment!) all he could hear was:

“DAMN YE, SPARROW! DAMN YE T’HELL! WHEN I GETS MESELF FREE O’ THESE BARS YE’RE DEAD, YE SCABROUS DOG!”

It was like cats mating. Piercing and shrill and really quite disturbing and yet inescapable as it resounded in one’s head and refused to get out, driving him quite possibly more mad every moment that he was forced to listen to Anamaria’s yowling.

One can imagine that at Will Turner’s arrival, Jack was practically *leaping* with joy.

Spotting the young man the very moment he came ambling down the stairwell, Jack was on his feet, gripping the bars of his cell with a wily look in his blood-shot eyes, “Whelp! --Will! You have to help me! Get me out of here. Quickly! Leverage! Or at the very least bring me a bottle of rum. …I need to drown out the cat…” he grumbled bitterly.

Will’s head cocked to the side as he offered Jack an inquisitive look before an ear shattering screech nearly had him jumping out of his skin. It was a few cells down and unmistakably that of the beautiful but audibly hazardous Anamaria.
“JACK SPARROW, I’LL HAVE YOUR GUTS FOR MY GARTERS WHEN THEY LET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Vaguely Jack recognized the fact that Anamaria did not, in fact, wear garters, but his agony far out weighed the desire to be cheeky in that moment.

“Gods, woman, don’t you sleep?” he whined. Or at least keened at her in that throaty baritone managing the Jack Sparrow equivalent to a whine.

Speaking over her constant stream of French cursing and oaths, Will tried to explain to Jack, “I need your help.”

Jack canted his head slightly, wincing automatically as Anamaria tossed something (most likely her dinner tray) at the bars of her cage with a resounding clang. “Ironically enough, it would seem I need yours. Funny how these things work out, idn’t it?” he replied sardonically, leaning his forehead against the thick steel bars separating him from Will.

“It’s about Elizabeth,” Will added sheepishly, stepping forward to be heard over the racket.

This provoked Jack to make a face, “Let me guess, she was kidnapped by cursed savages that also happen to need your mother’s blood to lift the curse and now you want me to make haste so that you can sail the high seas, have the adventure of a lifetime *and* win the girl… *again*, all while ol’ Jack risks life and limb so you can have a jolly old time and end up with a beautiful woman in your arms at the end of the story. Am I right?”

As he came out of the trance induced by the hypnotic fluttering and flailing of Jack’s hands, and looking decidedly a bit more than piqued, Will shook his head, glaring, “No,” he replied shortly.

The pirate regarded the young smithy as though he were surprised, eyeing him up and down no more than once, “Oh. Then it must be bedroom matters.”

“How did you know--” Will began, obviously startled. He cut off when he saw the smug smirk playing beneath Jack’s mustache. Clearing his throat, he tried to look dignified, “As a matter of fact… it is.”

Gleefully, Jack was obliged to ignore Anamaria for a bit longer as he scampered over to his cot and stretched out languidly, crossing his legs one over the other.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, whelp. What’s the missus like in the sack?” Jack inquired, crossing his arms under his chest with a feline-like grin.

Will felt color rush to his cheeks and his chilly demeanor grew fiery for a moment, “That’s none of your damned-” he caught himself when he realized that… he didn’t *know* what his wife was like in the sack anymore than Jack did. With a defeated sigh he gripped one of the cell bars. “We haven’t done it yet.”

“It? IT? You can’t even muster the sand to say- Wait a minute, did you just say you haven’t slept with Elizabeth yet?”

“Yes.”

“Why in blazes not, boy?! D’you not realize there are plenty of us who would have had a go at her had they known you were going to waste your turn?” Jack demanded, slurring his speech routinely (though he had been sober for nearly two days now).

This was promptly followed by a shrill retort from a few cells down: “That high toned and fancy’d slap ye and spit at ye as soon as *look* at ye, Sparrow!”

“Why doesn’t Norrington want to hang *her*?” Jack inquired feigning a saccharine, innocent tone as he gestured to his first mate’s cell with a tilt of his head.

“Norrington doesn’t want to hang anyone… at the moment. If you behave yourself, I can get you out of here. …But you must help me,” Will added importunately.

Jack sighed, moving from hot tot to approach the bars once more, his hands rising into the air as though Will had him at gun point and he was surrendering, “I promise I shall do my best, boy, but my experience with eunuchs is quite limited.”