More Seductive Than Purity

Chapter Two







When all of your wishes are granted, many of your dreams are lost. They run through your hands like water. Close your fingers. Don’t let the dream die.



Will lay curled on the bed, asleep. The images that shifted and swam through his sleeping mind were a tapestry of the last few years of his life. Will dreamed often. In the past, he used to have nightmares almost every night; visions of fire and the crushing weight of water, and so many mournful faces surrounding him; darkness, jeering, the flash of a knife against a white throat, congealed blood dulling the bright glint of gold; hallucinations of coarse hemp rope bound tightly on sun-warmed skin, the sound of drums, the rasp of metal, and the sickening snap of flesh and bone; a deafening booming sound, followed by a plummeting sensation, and then a vast, crushing, monstrous horror that encircled everything and ripped it apart with an agonising crack; easy cruelty, offhand brutality, blood, and pain and more blood. Will feared nothing when he was awake, and although his dreams would disturb him and leave him with a deep, melancholic ache, he knew them for what they were. The extraordinary events he had lived through for real were bound to replay in his psyche. There were other dreams of course, but they were meaningless. A florid mish-mash of colours, sounds and shapes. Figments of his imagination. Nothing more. But there had been one nightmare he had, just one, that disturbed him long after the sweating and shaking subsided once he had awoken with a shudder, not least because it was the one he had most often, and because for so long he couldn’t understand why he would have it at all.

Will was having the same dream now. He jerked, fingers clenching and unclenching, eyebrows twitching, his mouth open, breathing in shallow spasms. The phantasms that had haunted him and made him doubt his own sanity moved behind his flickering eyelids. The very first time Will had had the nightmare, he was back in the smithy a week after the incidence on the Isla de Muerta, and betrothed to Elizabeth, who was safe in her father’s house. The dream always started the same way. Will found himself in a pitch black room, and around the edges of the room he heard footsteps slowly pacing in circles round and round him. Try as he might, Will couldn’t move or speak in the dream, and he was gripped with terror as the paralysis left him vulnerable to the other presence. The footsteps got closer and closer, until suddenly Will felt two hands reach out and pin his helpless arms behind his back, binding his wrists with something that felt too soft to be rope or chains. Then Will would feel the faint warmth of breath at the back of his neck, and felt the hands slide up along his arms and over his shoulders, then down over his chest, fingers running over his ribcage as Will breathed hard, filled with horror. It was at this point Will would become conscious that he was naked, and that the hands were sliding further down to circle his waist, and were gliding inexorably towards the inexplicable hot hardness he realised was between his legs. The first time he had had the dream, the hands had got as far as his hips, when he thought with relief, “Oh, it’s alright, it’s her,” and he had managed to gather all his intent together to find the strength to whisper to the blackness of the room and the tantalising fingers,

“Elizabeth…” There was no reply, except for a row of kisses along his shoulders and the back of his neck. Will relaxed into the sensations as the fingers began to work their way up his aching shaft, and again he uttered the name into the tangible blackness,

“Elizabeth… yes…” The lips at his neck had moved again, and Will was aware of something strange and ticklish around them brushing against his skin. He frowned as he felt the shape moving round from behind him, keeping one hand on his cock, and sliding the other up his back. But as it had moved, Will’s heart had almost stopped, because he had heard an unmistakable jingling sound. Elizabeth didn’t jingle.

“Elizabeth?”

The figure wrapped its free arm round his waist, and pulled him close so Will could feel the cold buttons on the linen of the other body pressing against his bare skin, and out of the blackness, next to his ear, came a voice he knew all too well that said,

“Guess again, mate,” and Will knew that the ticklish sensation against his ear was from the hair at the speaker’s lips. And then those lips were on his, and he felt a tongue slide into him, even as he screamed into the heat and wetness of that other mouth,

“Jack! No! Ohhh God, yes!”

Will had woken up with a spasm and stumbled out of bed to be violently sick, his hands pressed against his belly, which he was even more horrified to find was sticky and wet, semen seeping through the fabric of his nightshirt. The feelings of shame and terror and revulsion constricted his gut as wave after wave of nausea went through him. Will lay his head against the cool flagstones, trying to stop the buzz in his brain.

“Not Jack. No. Not Jack. Oh God, what’s wrong with me? How can I even think that? He’s my… what is he? My friend, I suppose. But… Oh, for God’s sake, what’s happening? Elizabeth. I love Elizabeth. I’m going to marry Elizabeth, and she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. It’s just a nightmare. It isn’t real. But it felt so real… NO! This isn’t happening. My God, you bastard, what have you done to me? Why? What the hell are you doing in my head? Oh God, Jack…”

As he lay on the floor, not for the first or last time, Will thought about the reason he had saved Jack from the noose. It wasn’t just because it was the right thing to do. It was because Will wanted that bright, flashy, exasperating creature to stay in the world, in his world, a little longer. He just wasn’t quite sure why. But he was starting to have a horrible inkling about it.

The cabin was momentarily lit up by a blue-white flash, and as the thunder boomed loudly through the air, Will awoke with a gasp from his dream. He had just got to the part where Jack made him kneel on the floor in front of him with his mouth open and his eyes closed. Damn, that was one of the bits he liked best. He felt his cock throb, insistently asserting its wishes. Will turned his head to look over his shoulder at the empty space on the bed next to him. It was still dark, and Jack wasn’t back from his watch yet. Will lay still and allowed his heart rate to slow down. He smiled to himself as he thought about the effect that particular dream used to have on him.

It was when he had had the dream a third, fourth and fifth time, when it had eventually become a regular fixture in his nighttimes, that Will had thought either he had to never sleep again, or had to seriously consider the possibility that he had gone mad, or at the very least was ill. What was worse was that the dreams were getting more and more detailed, and in the dreams he was putting up less and less resistance. He hated having no power over his own mind, his own body. The veneer of control that had shielded him at all times felt as flimsy as straw. He would angrily fling down his hammer and throw another useless blade back into the fire after he had shattered it with a careless blow, realising that he had been distracted by yet another mental image. He saw the swell of a collarbone and shoulders, curving into the arc of a throat, honey-coloured in the firelight. Not the dainty, aristocratic delicateness of Elizabeth’s slim, pale neck. The head thrown back in his vision had teeth that glinted as the mouth parted into a grin, the square jaw outlined with dark whiskers that split into two slender plaits adorned with beads. Now even his daytimes weren’t sacrosanct. A lesser man would have turned to drink, but Will endured the suffering his own mind inflicted upon him in the same way he had endured all the other trials he had encountered; through sheer determination. He had always worked hard, but he threw himself into work with even more fervour, in the hope that by exhausting himself every day, his mind would be too tired at night to torment him. To his dismay, even as Will’s arms got noticeably larger, as his shoulders grew broader and the muscles on his back swelled, the dreams continued to persecute him.

Just to make matters worse, there was a little voice in Will’s head that would pipe up through the roaring anger and despair. Will had always thought this was the voice of his conscience, until it started telling him things he found too hard to believe. He really thought he must have gone mad, when one day in winter, near Christmas, he had come back from visiting Elizabeth and her father and found the latch to the smithy undone. His heart had leapt for a moment, until he realised that Mr Brown had finally managed to run out of grog, and had had to go to the nearest tavern, forgetting to lock the door in his haste to get to the bottom of the next mug and stem the onslaught of sobriety. Will was furious with himself, because he knew that for a split second he had hoped that he would find a swaying figure inside, grinning dangerously, warming his hands by the furnace. Will clasped his head in his hands, his fingers massaging the temples forcefully as though they could squeeze the unwanted thoughts out of his head.

“What’s wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with me?” With a sinking feeling, he heard the little voice, crystal clear, confiding the truth to him,

“You miss him. That’s all.”

He ran back into the cold and was sick again.

Will could hear the rain start outside the open windows of the cabin, the constant rushing sound of water on water. The cabin was stuffy, and the faint breeze that crept round the heavy curtains did little to cool the air. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. As he drifted into a semi-conscious state, the images started to emerge again, and Will thought how he must be the luckiest man alive. He had spent so much of his life in a state of unacknowledged sorrow, merely existing from one day to the next, and now he finally felt that he was really living. He felt happy. He thought about how different things might have been if he had stayed in Port Royal, and married Elizabeth.

She was all his wishes come true. Strong, intelligent, single-minded, and lovely as daybreak. When she accepted his proposal, Will thought he could only possibly feel happier on their wedding day. Then, so soon after he thought nothing could mar their future, the dreams had come. The doubts. Will was haunted by guilt, and could speak to no one, caught between the fear of what he suspected to be madness, and self-disgust at his own perversity.

She had wanted to marry as soon as possible, but Will insisted that he had to work long enough to save for a future together, and they compromised by settling on a year-long engagement. It would mean he was not entirely beholden to Governor Swann for their upkeep, but also Will had desperately hoped it would buy him enough time to exorcise the incubus that sashayed through his mind.

For that entire year, Will struggled to maintain the semblance of normality, while inside he felt decidedly abnormal. He saw Elizabeth every day, and some days were so good. He would be charmed by her company, the bright chatter of her conversation, and the delightful smiles she would give him for long enough to forget the dark deviance that lurked in him. She had persuaded him to teach her how to fight, and they spent hours pacing, sparring and working on her technique until Will was proud to admit that she was an excellent swordswoman. He had been curious about why she insisted on perfecting the skill, saying,

“I love to teach you, of course. But why do you want to learn? We’re safe now, and no harm will come to you.” She had snorted and said,

“Oh really, Will. I don’t need you looking after me. I want to be able to fend for myself. That damsel in distress routine is such old hat.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just wondered why, that’s all.”

“Because you love it, and I know you’ll teach me better than anyone, and also because it means I get to spend my days with you.” She had wriggled onto his lap, and said coquettishly,

“That is, until we’re married and I can spend my nights with you as well.” Then she had kissed him, and he felt her small hands working at the buttons on his shirt. With a cold, sinking feeling, Will had realised that he was unconsciously shrinking away from her fingers. He caught her hands in his own, and said,

“Elizabeth, we can’t. Not until we’re married. You have my love. I hope that can be enough for now.” And he convinced himself that abstinence was not only right in the eyes of God, but also because he didn’t want to sully her with the depravity he battled with. It had nothing to do with the fact that the hands that were now withdrawing from his body were nothing like the hands in his dream. Nothing at all. She had bowed her head, her lips pursed, and given a single nod of her head. He forced a smile, and kissed her chastely on the mouth. And so it went for a year. For three hours a day, they would practise together. Occasionally Elizabeth would press herself against him, twining her arms round him when he kissed her goodbye at the end of every session. But he would always use the same excuse, and he would always refuse her.

With a twinge of remorse at the memory, Will thought,

“It’s a miracle she didn’t run me through. It must have been hell for her. But it’s no wonder she’s such a good fighter now…”

It had taken some time before Will could think about Lizzie without either feeling guilty or reproachful. Jack had tried to convince him that the one cancelled the other out, so really Will shouldn’t be wasting his time or energy worrying about something trivial. Will smiled as he thought about Jack’s methods of persuasion.

“Ha. His approach to reasoning really is unique.”

As Will thought about Jack, he felt a tremulous vibration in his stomach. The one he always felt when Jack walked into his line of vision, or turned suddenly to give him one of those spectacular smiles, or crept up behind him and wrapped his arms round Will’s waist.

He remembered the moment that had finally proved to him that all those months of disgust and guilt and resistance had been completely mistaken. But by then, of course, after days and nights of kissing and touching and being touched, and after the wordless, breathtaking polemic Jack had used the first time he put his hand around Will’s cock until Will was shaking and crying, he was rather more open to being convinced.

Jack had been kissing Will’s stomach, dipping his tongue into his navel while his hand moved between Will’s legs. Will had always made Jack stop here. A week or so before, Jack had ducked down further to kiss Will’s hip, and Will had squeaked, “Jack! Don’t! You can’t! Not there!” So Jack had gone back to letting the slow persuasion of Will’s own desire and curiosity do the work. But that night, when Jack had paused and rested his chin lightly on Will’s belly, his hand working its spell up and down Will’s shaft, his hair spilling around his bare, brown shoulders and over Will’s thighs, he had said,

“Do you trust me?” He very gently tilted Will’s cock upwards until the head was brushing against the smooth skin at the base of his throat. Will gulped, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he nodded his head vigorously.

“Good,” said Jack. His voice felt like velvet against Will’s skin. “’Cause I’m gonna keep kissin’ you all the way down. And I need you to trust me when I tell you how good this is going to make you feel, and how much I want to do it to you.” Will had opened his eyes when he felt the old fear and shame rush through him, and looked down at Jack pleadingly. Jack smiled softly,

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop. I promise.” Will took a breath, then nodded again. And then Jack sucked Will’s cock into his mouth, and Will had thought, “Oh! He’s right,” and that this must be the absolute pinnacle of pleasure, that nothing at all could possibly make him feel more incredible, until he was proved to have been wrong about this too, when a few moments later Jack took him to the edge and made Will watch himself come all over Jack’s tongue.

Needless to say, there were even more things subsequently that made that liquid feeling of bliss wash over him, besides the things Jack could do with his hands or his tongue or his cock. Things like waking up to find Jack still asleep, Jack’s arm slung over his chest, his fingers tucked under Will’s hair, his lips parted slightly in the promise of a smile, breathing softly, evenly, into Will’s neck.

Like the time Will had spent several minutes explaining the finer points of metalwork to Jack, then looked up to find him with his eyes closed.

“Jack!” Will had grumbled loudly. Jack’s eyes slid open.

“What?” came the nonplussed reply.

“Haven’t you been listening? If you were bored, you should have said so.” Will had glowered at Jack under his brows. Jack laughed.

“I was listening, mate.”

“Really,” Will said sceptically. “What was I saying then?” And Jack had repeated back everything Will had just told him, and finished by saying,

“I just closed me eyes, ‘cause I like listenin’ to the sound of your voice when you talk. Makes me happy. Also means I don’t get distracted by the rest of you.” Will had put his arms around Jack and atoned for his mistake.

Like the time they had found an extraordinary cache of flawless jewels in a cave they could only access by swimming underwater to reach the hidden entrance. Will had emerged from the water and been dazzled by the colours around him, lit up by the distant shard of sunlight coming through the tiny fissure far above them. He had bent down and scooped up a handful of flawless emeralds, and turned to Jack, expecting him to have started filling one of the Hessian sacks they had brought with them. Will turned to find that Jack was still in the water, his chin resting on his hands. He wasn’t looking at the glinting piles of gems all around them. He was looking only at Will, as the sea water dripped from the ends of Will’s hair and ran down his neck in glimmering trails.

“Jack?” Will had knelt down in front of the pool, rather amused.

“Mmm?”

“Jack, the jewels? We have to finish before the next tide.” Jack’s reply was to reach up and tuck the wet tendrils of hair behind Will’s ears, revealing the salty droplets that hung like earrings from his lobes.

“Seems to me like these are the only ones in here worth havin’.” And he sucked Will’s earlobe into his mouth.

Will remembered thinking shortly after that,

“Diamonds really are the hardest thing in the world, particularly when they are under your knees.”

So, by degrees, Will had come to accept that the way he felt was not mad, or perverse, or repugnant. He realised that not only did he want Jack, but that Jack wanted him too. Jack wanted him so very much, not just to use like a whore, but to cherish. Slowly, tentatively, Will learned what it was to feel desirable, and to want to feel that way.

Will sighed as he thought about Jack, his heart pounding again. He rolled onto his back, turning his face into the pillow next to him that smelled like Jack, brushing the tip of one finger in wide circles around his navel. Jack, beautiful Jack, had made him feel beautiful too.

Jack was like twilight; tenebrous, glowing, magical. He remembered the first time he had set eyes on him, and how confused he had felt. This thing, this pirate, this embodiment of everything he had hated for his whole life, was pacing around his territory like a creature from another world, laughing at him, dancing round him with eyes flashing black as witchcraft, and giving Will his first taste of a real swordfight. He was so very real, this man, and Will had felt quite addled when he had clasped Jack’s hand in his own to seal their agreement before he prized the gaol door off its hinges. The word that had come to mind when he felt those fingers close round his own, and met the gaze of those dazzling, almond shaped eyes that glittered shamelessly, was “exquisite”. Will had immediately corrected himself with some vexation, assuring himself, “Of course, the word I meant was execrable.” Will eventually came to see that Jack was a rather heady combination of the two.

After they had stolen the Interceptor and were on their way to Torguga, Will would catch himself staring at Jack, only realising what he was doing when the dark mane would shift and he would see Jack looking back at him, the customary gold-shot grin never far from his mouth. Will would crossly make the excuse that Jack drew attention to himself, so he couldn’t really be blamed for looking. But Will looked at Jack less and less, because with increasing frequency whenever he absently glanced over at Jack, he found he was already being watched. Will wasn’t sure if the expression he saw there was a challenge, or something else even more threatening. Either way, he felt awkward and uncomfortable under the black gaze. Somehow naked.

Then there was that moment on the Isla de Muerta when everything went topsy-turvy. He had bungled his chance with Elizabeth, thinking that her affections lay with Norrington. And out of nowhere, Jack had asked Will if he wanted to come with him. For an instant that seemed to stretch impossibly, Will hesitated before he refused. But in that pause, he had felt something stir within him that terrified him more than Barbossa and his skeletal hordes, more than the obliterating blackness of the water squeezing his lungs as he was trapped below the deck of the Interceptor, more than the thought that after all his years of hatred, his own father was a pirate. It was the desire to say yes to Jack.

So when he and Elizabeth got hauled up in front of Lord Beckett, on their wedding day of all days (Will knew it was inappropriate, but couldn’t help stifling a whimsical grin) and he got sent off to find Jack, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. More distressingly, when he found him, the traces of the good man he had always believed Jack to be were missing. And for a while, Will was almost relieved by the pain and the anger he felt at Jack’s duplicity, because it was a cure for all the other things he had felt in Jack’s absence. That was until the moment he saw Elizabeth kiss Jack, and had silently screamed,

“Get off him!”

Not her, him.

Will opened his eyes again in the dark. There was no way he was going to get back to sleep again now. He rolled back onto his side again, removing the tantalising finger from his stomach, preferring to wait until Jack came back. He reached up to wrap his hand through the gaps in the carved headboard of Jack’s bed, fiddling with the familiar curlicues and flourishes of the wood. Jack’s bed, typically, was as meretricious as its owner.

“Though, I suppose it’s our bed now,” Will considered.

He thought about how he had always declined to enter Jack’s cabin, which was dominated by the looming presence of this very bed. It was enough that he had joined Jack’s crew. After the hours he had spent arguing with Elizabeth at the bay in Singapore, the despair Will had felt as he paced up and down the sand before dawn was complete. He had lost his father, which still filled him with anguish despite his reluctant acceptance that this was probably better than being bound to the Dutchman; he had lost Elizabeth, alienated by her mercilessness; he had lost whatever sense of dignity he thought he had. The worst thing was that even in the midst of his despondency, Will had found his eyes sliding to the distant light of the fire, outlining the shape of a rudimentary tent which shielded the occupants from his view, and he found himself thinking,

“Please, let him live.”

Just before the sun rose, Will had sat and stared out to sea, watching the red horizon. A numbness had settled over him. For the first time in his life, Will felt too weak to fight anymore. Later, he wasn’t sure if it was masochistic nihilism, or the clarion voice in his head, louder now that the other chatter in his mind had fallen silent, that had made him decide what to do next. “I’ve got nothing left, so I’ve got nothing left to lose. You’ll haunt me as surely as if you were still a spirit even if I leave. What’s the use of it? What’s the use of anything anymore?”

But Will knew he was the ghost on the ship for the first few months under Jack’s command. For much of the time, Jack was actually almost kind to him. There were moments when Will had daydreamed that Jack might reciprocate if Will had reached out to him, or at least not throw him over the side straight away; then he admonished himself for thinking that the little touches and glances Jack gave him were anything other than Jack’s habitual manner, his way of expressing friendly concern. He treated everyone like that, didn’t he? Well, maybe not quite… That made everything even more difficult, particularly when Jack would ask him if he wanted to continue their conversation in the confines of his quarters. Will would always refuse the offer politely, crumbling inside with the dread of what he might do, of what might happen if he agreed to go into the space that lay behind Jack, the door closing behind both of them to shut them in together. At times, Will had almost considered giving in to the ever-growing lure of the sick desires that plagued him, when he was almost tempted to say “Yes,” and step through the doorway. But he thought to himself,

“What would you do once you got in there? Even if you had the courage to do anything about it, you’d find yourself on the point of Jack’s sword in an instant. And it would be the least you deserve.” He would go back to his own quarters and curl up, pleading for the twinge in his groin to subside.

Will tucked his hand under the pillow, feeling sleepy again,

“It’s funny,” he thought, “I was right. Once I went over the threshold of this room, I never really left again.”

Another brilliant flash lit up the room, and Will shuddered very slightly at the answering roll of thunder, much louder this time, resonating all round him and making the ship itself quake. He knew it was just the ordinary phenomenon of an echo, but the sound reminded him of the uncanny noise of the signal to raise the Kraken. The last time he had heard that noise was one of the reasons he was now lying in this bed.

Will had been below decks, scrubbing at the galley steps, pausing every now and then to wipe the sweat from his face, which was set into the dark, brooding expression it had worn for several days. He was replaying the argument in his mind he had had with Jack a few days before. The angry exchange had never been far from his thoughts, and Jack’s words echoed round Will’s skull like a curse,

“Not all boys are cut out to be great philanderers of the female sex. Particularly boys that are cut like you…”

He knew.

“A man, then, who prefers company other than that of the feminine persuasion. Perhaps you are one of those men?”

Jack damn well knew.

Or did he? Couldn’t it have just been just another one of Jack’s sarcastic gibes, designed to provoke him into slipping up so Jack gained the upper hand in the sparring match? But if that was the case, then judging by Will’s reaction even if Jack hadn’t suspected it before, it was likely he did now. It was probably why Jack had said that they weren’t near any suitable ports, just to exacerbate Will’s sense of shame by prolonging the time he had to spend on board the ship. He should just throw himself over the side and get it over with.

Will snapped out of his reverie when he heard a voice shouting,

“Sail-ho!”

He dashed up the stairs and saw some of the crew leaning over the side of the ship, straining their eyes. Jack stood at the wheel, his spyglass held up to one eye. Gibbs stood next to him, and Will saw the expression on Jack’s face change as he lowered the glass and turned to say something hurriedly to Gibbs, before shooing him away. Gibbs came rushing past him as Jack started shouting orders.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s Beckett, he’s…” Will interrupted.

“Beckett? But I thought he’d been dismissed…” And then Will heard it. That deep, reverberating boom that sent shockwaves through the ship and carved ruts through the surrounding waves. Will paled slightly, and risked another glance at Jack as he joined everyone in manning their stations.

“We make for land! Mr Gibbs, I want you and Mr Turner to hoist that sail and make fast. I’m not losing another ship or another man to that bloody thing!”

Even in the resulting mêlée, Will had a moment to observe how quickly they reached the coastline of a nearby island. So Jack had been punishing him. They were close to land after all. The white sails drew nearer and nearer, and the sea continued broiling in the aftermath of the signal to the Kraken. Will sent up a silent prayer, feeling the skin on his hands burn despite the well-worn callouses, in his haste to see the sail hauled aloft. He had no desire to meet that… thing… again. Where was it? He saw the frightened faces bustling around him, silenced by a unanimous fear and desperation to survive. Will could see the fast approaching patch of paler blue water that surrounded the island, his heart racing. He heaved a huge sigh of relief as they shot over the ascending step in the seabed. Jack was shouting again.

“Everyone, get into the longboat. We can make it to shore before they start with the cannons.”

Will was one of the last to get into the boat. Just as he climbed over the side of the ship, he saw Jack draw Gibbs aside and heard urgent whispering. As he slid down the rope, he could make out Gibbs’ voice,

“No! Jack, you can’t, it’s madness!” Jack shushed him. There was more whispering.

“But do you mean to…”

“No ifs, no buts. Yes, I do. And I trust you’ll carry out my orders.”

Will saw Jack’s face appear over the side, and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Will creeping down the rope.

“Shift yerself, Mr Turner. This aint a bloody picnic party.”

Will gave him the barest nod, and sat down, taking up one of the oars. Jack sat in the prow of the longboat and didn’t look at anyone until they reached the shore, covered with black, volcanic sand. The white sails behind them had glided around the other side of the cove.

They huddled on the beach. Will watched Jack give a thin-lipped smile to Gibbs, then swing round, hands gesticulating to the air in front of the crew as he paced up and down in front of them.

“Well, they’ll be here soon enough. I have a plan. Guard the boat, and keep an eye out for any stray tentacles.” He paused in front of Will but his eyes looked everywhere except Will’s face. “And all of you, stay here.” Will glared at him obstinately, daring him to look up. He saw Jack’s mouth tighten as he said,

“Especially you,” and he met Will’s gaze. Will tilted his head slightly, challenging him to say anything else. He saw something obscuring the dark eyes before they looked away, something that felt like a tiny pin going through his heart. Then Jack was gone, dashing off through the trees, sword drawn, shouting,

“Don’t any of you bloody lot follow me, or you’ll bugger everythin’ up.” He turned one last time, and Will felt the pin twist as from even that distance he saw Jack look at him directly, and knew that the words Jack bellowed were addressed to him,

“That’s an order!” then the trees closed round him. Will turned to Gibbs and demanded,

“What the hell is going on? What’s this so-called plan he’s got?” Gibbs shrugged,

“Like he said, we stay here.” He saw Gibbs swallow hard, his eyes narrowing.

“We’re supposed to just wait here until he gets back?” Gibbs looked at him and nodded silently. Then from far off, they heard Jack’s voice again, yelling,

“What are you waitin’ for? Scared to come out and meet me, eh Beckett? Or is it just that I can’t see you yet ‘cause you’re so very small?” Will shot a confused look at Gibbs, who opened his mouth to say something. But what came out was a shout,

“Swords at the ready lads! Let’s give these tars what for!” Will whipped round, his hand round the hilt of his sword. Ten naval officers were charging out from the bushes towards them; Will was immediately in the instinctual state that always came over him when he was fighting and pelted towards the oncoming attackers. He had already killed two of them and wounded a third, and saw that the crew were making fairly light work of the remaining men, before he set off in the direction Jack had gone without even thinking about it. He heard Gibbs shouting,

“Will, don’t! Jack said not to…” Will heard his own voice as he stampeded towards the trees.

“I don’t care what he said; he’s out there on his own! He heard Gibbs again, a note of desperation in his voice,

“Will, stop!”

But Will was already hacking through the undergrowth. He slowed his pace and started tracking the path Jack had left behind him, marked out by the split branches. He knew he needed to approach as quietly as possible, then he suddenly stopped altogether.

“What am I doing? A few days ago I wanted him dead.” Jack’s words returned to taunt him.

“You really shouldn’t have developed the habit of saving me. Tends to give a man the wrong impression.” Will put his sword back into the scabbard, turned around and started back towards the beach. But he had only taken a few steps when his feet refused to go any further; he heard Jack’s voice again in his head.

“I like having you around.”

Will balled his hands into fists, and threw his head back, mouth open wide in a silent roar of desperation. Then he blocked out every single thought and turned to walk towards the inevitable outcome.

He soon heard voices and the metallic clang of several weapons striking together. With the utmost caution he peered through the trees towards the source of the noises. There was a clearing up ahead and a low hill. With a sinking feeling, Will saw Beckett at the top of the mound. He had his back to him, and was telling something to Jack, who didn’t seem too pleased by what he had just said. Jack was surrounded by four officers. Mercer stood behind him, his sword clamped against Jack’s throat. Will reached inside his coat to the baldric that always sat at his hip, and withdrew the dagger his father had given him, raising his hand up to shoulder height, waiting. He saw Beckett nod to Mercer, and the dagger shot from Will’s hand and met its target. Will drew his sword and sprinted at the approaching figure of Mercer. Mercer met him at full tilt, and Will again found himself in that abstracted state where the only thing he was aware of was the marriage of steel and muscle and dexterity. Will spun out of the way of Mercer’s blade, slamming his fist into the small of Mercer’s back. As he twisted round to meet him head on again, he saw a flash at his side and thought for a moment that his sword belt had come undone. Then Will heard a gargling, choking sound, like the sound he had heard an octopus make when the cook had cut out its heart, its tentacles going limp. He had stabbed Mercer through the throat, a fine spray of blood spurting out and disappearing on the black sand. Mercer dropped to the ground, his mouth set into a strange rictus of a smile.

Will breathed hard, then squared his shoulders and strode up the hill towards Jack. Two officers were dead, and Will saw the other two running off between the trees. Jack wasn’t looking at him. He was bending down towards Beckett. He withdrew the dagger from Beckett’s back and held it out towards Will, still not looking at him.

“That contrariness of yours is quite infuriating. Should’ve asked you to come with me, shouldn’ I. Then you might’ve done what I said I wanted you to do in the first place. ‘Cause I distinctly remember tellin’ you to stay with the boat.” Jack said brusquely, patting the prone figure in front of him to locate the key to the manacle still fastened around his wrist. Will pursed his lips. Typical ungrateful Jack. Three days of pent up anger and the constant recapitulation of their argument shattered Will’s stony silence.

“Is that why you like having me around Jack? So I can save you every time you do something incredibly stupid like that? I thought that was my speciality, according to certain sources around here.”

Jack straightened up, half-turning away from Will, and inserted the small key he held between his fingers into the lock. The manacles dropped to the ground with a clang. Will heard Jack take a deep breath and say,

“It’s one good reason, I s’pose. But it’s not the only one. Told you, didn’t I, I like having you around. Just because. Even if you do disobey direct orders…” As if that was an adequate explanation. Then it became even more complicated, as with the utmost caution, doing his best to smile as unequivocally as possible, Jack turned and put one arm round Will and patted him on the back firmly, giving what Will supposed was his best impression of virile gratitude. Then Jack let his hand linger a few seconds too long, applying just the right amount of pressure, palm open, thumb moving fractionally against the leather of Will’s coat. Will had gone completely rigid, and in fact had stopped breathing. It felt like something had ripped him open and the turmoil inside him was seeping out wetly. He fought against the little shivers that were radiating out across his back from the subtle friction. Will steeled himself to just try to accept this contact graciously, unemotionally. His left hand betrayed him though, rising up and resting lightly on Jack’s elbow. The instant Jack felt the tentative response, he clapped Will on the back again, leaning back to give Will another bewitching grin. Will wryly thought he might have to cut off his treacherous hand later. Jack looked away, muttering an almost inaudible, “Thanks”. Will’s jaw dropped as Jack turned round and started to walk down the hill.

Will stood still, momentarily frozen in the same position with his hand cupped round the empty air, not quite sure what had just happened. He dumbly watched Jack moving off into the distance, evidently assuming that Will would follow him without argument. After a minute or so, Will regained the use of his limbs and set off after him, determined to verify what he had just heard. He soon drew level with Jack, and with a look of utter discombobulation on his face, he demanded,

“What did you say?”

“When”

“Just now!”

“Oh, I can’t remember,” Jack’s hands gestured dismissively. “Probably something incredibly stupid about…something completely inconsequential…” Apparently Jack wasn’t going to make it that easy. Not now he had actually managed to get Will to talk to him again. That was the end of their conversation for the moment though, because Will was completely exasperated by Jack’s maddening flippancy, and he was furious with himself for responding to Jack. He was so livid that he was in physical pain. He thought perhaps it would be better if he cut off Jack’s head rather than his own duplicitous hand. At least then he wouldn’t have to hear another word come out of that mouth. And then, to his dismay, Jack’s mouth was all Will could think about.

“He’s right,” Will thought with extreme reluctance, conclusively ending the internal struggle he had endured for the last few days. “If I want him dead, then it’s pointless for me to keep saving him. But I know I always will.” He sighed heavily, feeling another stab of pain below his chest, but refused to make eye contact as he saw Jack’s head swing in his direction. “I just don’t know why I bother,” he thought. But it was the tiny, clear voice that had made Will go back to sea with Jack in the first place that he heard in his head then. “I do know, but won’t the world explode if I admit it?” Will thought he might be sick, and pushed the little voice away roughly. His ribcage ached again, and as he put his dagger back into the sheath, he pressed his left hand to his aching side. To his surprise it came away red. Will felt a plummeting sensation in the pit of his stomach, recalling the flash of Mercer’s blade at his waist, but kept quiet, buttoned his coat and hid his hand in his pocket, wiping off as much of the telltale stain as he could. He knew that if Jack put an arm round him now and helped him to the boat he might do something awful that would complete his humiliation, like fainting, or clinging desperately to Jack.

The rest of the crews were waiting for them at the long boat, several cuts and bruises between them, but nothing of note. They were all rather quiet, however, so Will’s silence was not met with any surprise considering he had barely spoken for days. He was feeling a bit light-headed, and avoided Jack’s eyes again, as Jack shot him one or two rather concerned looks, noticing that Will did not automatically leap to take up one of the oars to row back as he always did. They reached the side of the ship, and Jack climbed up the rope first and swung over the side of the Stella., followed by the rest of the crew. Will did his best to haul himself up, while Mr Gibbs waited to bring up the rear. Will saw Jack’s head pop over the side to see why he was taking so long. Too tired now to resist, he rather gratefully took Jack’s proffered hand and half-fell over the side. He was aware that Jack was standing very close to him, unnecessarily close as usual, and that Jack was saying,

“I think I’ve just remembered what it was I might have said to you.”

“Really?” Will said, his voice sounding more laboured than he’d expected.

“Aye. I think it was something along the lines of ‘Thanks’.” And he gave Will his most dazzling smile yet.

Will smiled weakly in response despite himself, then discovered that he was still clutching onto Jack’s arm. He saw Jack’s grin turned to a frown as Will swayed on his feet. Then he heard Jack’s voice, sounding very far off, as blood pounded in his head and the pain in his side sent a jolt through him,

“Will? Will, what’s the matter? I know it’s a bit of a shock, me saying thanks and all, but…”

“Captain?” Will thought he heard Gibbs’ voice interrupt, but he couldn’t be sure. “Captain, there’s blood on the inside of the longboat.”

Will felt Jack fumbling at his coat and heard a muffled curse. Ineffectually trying to bat away Jack’s hand, now wet with blood, he slurred,

“’S fine… Jack…’s fine…’m okay…”

Will heard Jack shouting as everything started to whirr,

“Help me get him below! Bring me some sheets, Mr Cotton. Scurry, all of you! Look lively!”

Will realised to his horror that he was doing exactly the things he had most dreaded doing. The last sensations he was aware of before the dark came was of Jack lifting him gently, and Jack’s mouth close to his ear, as he admonished him,

“Really Will, I know that your pride and principles are important, but don’t you think this is taking it a bit too far?” Will had opened his mouth to retort, but the only sound that came out was a very subdued, “Ow.” The voice came again out of the dark, “Don’t worry, luv, I’m here. I’ll look after you.” Will moaned, articulating the last clear thought that came through the mire in his brain,

“No. Please don’t. Don’t touch me. I don’t think I can bear it.” And the very last thing he heard, that he thought he must have imagined, were the words spoken in a whisper,

“Will, it should’ve been me. Don’t you dare die. I’ll never forgive you, you know. If you die because of me, then what was the point of me coming back, eh? Stay with me…I’m so sorry…Please, stay with me…”

It was quite some time later that Will found out he hadn’t dreamed it at all.