Repression, Obsession & Past Life Regression

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Taxes Part 3 - Repression, Obsession, and Past Life Regression
Part 6 of 8: Glycerine
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The shivering began not long afterward, but it wasn't the most troubling thing. At least, it was a sign of life from Jack, who once he'd lifted his head, had stared straight into Will's gas fireplace, though it was cold and had been for months.

His eyes were what troubled Will the most. They were flat, black discs. His face, usually mobile and alight, was a mask, and was so very pale under his surfer's tan. When he shivered, slightly, they closed, and then focused briefly on Will Smith when the younger man slid a blanket about his shoulders.

"Thanks," Jack whispered. Will slid next to him on the couch and drew him in, leaning that dark head on his shoulder. Utterly pliant, Jack sank into the half-embrace. For two hours, they did not move, and then Will said, "Let's get you home."

Will parked the bike and walked Jack inside, then put him to bed, stripping and climbing in after. He curled around Jack, lending him warmth. Once, he looked up and found his face reflected in Jack's computer monitor. When he saw Turner in himself, he caught his arm just before destroying a costly bit of equipment.

* * *

"I'm so tired," Jack murmured in the middle of the night, "but I can't sleep. Isn't that weird? And you know what else?"

"Hmm?" Will inquisoftsoftly, stroking Jack's hair.

"I'm stone cold sober. How wrong is that?" A hollow chuckle. "Actually, I think I'm more sober than I've ever been in my life."

They made love, late that night or early that morning, very quietly and all mouths and hands. Jack's face lost that frightening blankness, but only for the barest instant, and then it returned.

Neither before, nor after the lovemaking did either of them sleep. Jack could not ever remember feeling so numb, nor Will ever so angry.

* * *

Liz Swan slept late that morning, dreaming old, old dreams. It seemed she heard the child she had never been, singing from a great distance. She felt wind in her ears, then that pulled back as well, and she knew it as a flag rippling in a gale.

When she woke, it was with a deep breath, and the image of the Jolly Roger large in her mind.

"Hon?" murmured Greg, sleepily.

"Just a dream," she said, but she knew what the flag meant.

It was, without fail, a message and a warning.

"Baby," she said, "I need to go somewhere, okay?"

"'Kay," he replied. He kissed her, stretched, and then fell back into a light sleep. Liz slid out of bed and headed for the shower. Elizabeth, there in the back of her mind, murmured approval.

They knew not what, but somewhere, something was wrong.

* * *

Sunday dawned grey, a coastal haze obscuring the blue. Eventually, Jack slid out of bed, managing a smile for a worried-looking Will. "I'm fine," he said, in a voice that was entirely too even.

In truth, though, the world seemed wrapped in a blanket. Sights, sounds, all were muffled. Jack wondered if this was how everyone else saw the world every day. //Guess I always did have a little bit of the Captain in me,// he thought, and it seemed to resound inside his own head like a shout in an empty room. Then he chuckled again, and that sounded wrong too.

In the shower, he turned up the heat 'till it was nearly scalding, and that helped a bit. He sat on the bench seat built into his corner tub, letting the water run over his head for a full five minutes. Then he pulled himself up. He began to hum that old, old song of Elizabeth's and stopped, as it made him sad. He couldn't really remember the words now, anyway.

Jack dried himself off, including his eyes. Especially his eyes. Then he pulled on a pair of sweats and realized that he had work he really should be doing. He unfolded his work laptop on the kitchen table and began, going over forms and figures, losing himself in numbers. At some point, perhaps an hour later, perhaps two, Will padded out of the bedroom - looked like the kid had finally gotten an hour or two of sleep, Jack hoped. Will passed a mug of coffee over, and Jack smiled gratefully.

"How are you?" Will asked.

"...Normal, I guess. I don't think I ever knew what that felt like." He took a sip of coffee. "You?"

"...Okay." Will sipped his own drink, then said, "We're both lying, aren't we?"

"No." Will frowned at that. "No, I really do feel normal," Jack replied. "And normal feels wrong. I hate it, Will. I hate it and I want it to go away." His next breath was just a bit more ragged. "And there's this void in me. I don't want to think about it too hard, or look at it, at all, but I know it's there."

"I know what you mean," Will said, and Jack looked up with surprise. "They've been with us all our lives, there in the background, and now..."

"But...Turner..."

"*Turner,* Will growled, "doesn't get to come back. He doesn't get to fucking *exist,* until Sparrow's back with you."

"Don't you mean, unless?" And Jack wondered if his eyes looked as barren as he felt.

"Until." And Jack thought through memories gone fuzzy and indistinct that it would be a bad idea to tell Will the implacability in his voice was very Turner, after all. But his movements... Will tripped a little as he moved to the counter, setting his mug down a bit too hard. "Oh, fucking...ah, sorry."

"No harm, no foul," Jack replied. "You know, I think I'd like to get a fire going. This morning's a little bit cool."

They moved to the living room, Jack's laptop forgotten. Will opened the blinds, letting light filter in through the blue-green eucalyptus outside. Jack, meanwhile, went to move the half-empty rum away from the fireplace. When he reached for his his hand shook, and he felt a need for the stuff that scared him. He let Will lift the bottle away instead.

The fire warmed the morning just a bit, but Jack still found it to be too quiet. He went to the stereo and turned it on low, with CDs rotating through. He heard Gavin sing softly, quiet melancholy.

"...I'm never alone; I'm alone all the time. Are you at one or do you lie..."

Will yawned. Jack wondered if he could finally sleep now, himself. He worried, though, that he'd sleep too long. Waking had been a twisting, jarring thing, this last time.

"...I needed you more when we wanted us less, I could not kiss, just regress.
It might just be clear, simple and plain. That's just fine, that's just one of my names...."

"Shh," Will said. "I'll wake you in two hours, I promise."

And how could he not trust Will?

"...Don't let the days go by.... Could have been easier on you; I couldn't change though I wanted to. Should have been easier by three; our old friend fear and you and me..."

* * *

Will did wake Jack, exactly when he'd said he would, and Jack felt a stab of guilt, as Will didn't look like he'd slept after all. Looking outside upon the tree shadows, Jack noticed morning threatening to become afternoon. He wanderedthe the refrigerator, grabbed a plastic bottle of juice, and meandered back to the fireside couch. The fire crackled low, and he scooted closer to the embers.

At length, he asked Will, "So. What's the plan?"

"Well," the kid said, slowly, "we want Sparrow back with you, right? That's the goal."

"Right. Sparrow and Turner."

"Let's leave Turner out of this for now. The first question is whether or not we ought to enlist some help. We've got two options here: Dr. Schuyler, if she's in, and the only other person who knows what's going on, Liz."

"Not Dr. Schuyler," Jack said. "If Jack's still..." he trailed off, lost.

"He's reachable. *Believe it.* The Captain's out there. We just have to find him." Will leaned forward, eyes bright.

"Right." Flat, hollow...Jack was starting to dislike the sound of his own voice. "Anyway, no doc. I think...Jack would rebel at that kind of control. It happened the last time, after all."

"Okay, that leaves Liz. And, I think calling her is kind of academic at this point, seeing as she's coming up the driveway."

* * *

Liz reached up to knock, and the door opened, Will beyond.

"What's wrong?" she said. "You've got raccoon-sized circles under your eyes."

"Y'know," he replied, ushering her in, "we didn't sleep at all the night they woke up? But I don't think we looked this shitty."

Liz blinked. Within...//...Will never used such language...something *is* wrong...//. And Will Smith swore only rarely. There was something...off, about the way he moved, too. He was almost clumsy, when he'd moved with a gliding grace since the day she'd met him.

She walked inside and saw the other half of the problem. Jack looked up, and his eyes...anyone who did not know him would notice nothing amiss. Liz, though...she knew what to look for, the echoes of emotion that those flat discs did not stir within her. Fire, passion, danger; all were gone. Oh.... Liz ched hed at Elizabeth and felt an inner clasping returned.

Jack Sparrow, somehow, was gone.

"Hey, Liz," Jack said. "Come on in, sit down."

Liz crouched on her heels before him and asked only one question. "How?"

She heard what she assumed was the abbreviated version, and stopped Jack when she heard his voice hitch, as she knew enough.

"I agree that you don't want to go back to that woman; I don't think she'll be a lot of help. I have an idea, but I don't know how safe it is."

"You know," Jack replied, laughing slightly, and the sound scared her just a little, "I don't think I care."

"We go to the beach. There are two things that are always about Jack Sparrow; rum and the sea." Liz felt Elizabeth behind her words, heard the accent in some. "So, we go to the beach, and we drink rum until we puke. Or maybe you do - one of us better be sober."

"I think you're right. And, I think it should be you, too, because..." She could see him searching for the words. "Don't take this wrong, please. You're a good friend. But having you here, now, hearing Elizabeth in you...you're *whole,* and I can sense it, somehow, and it hurts. God, I'm sorry, but it really hurts."

And hearing that hurt her, but she understood. "Will...you, too?"

He didn't answer. It was all the answer she needed. She walked over to Will and embraced him.

"It's all right. I'll follow you, and look in frime ime to time. I...we...will be watching over you, as always." She smiled for them both, and wiped a tear from the corner of Will's eye.

* * *

Will wrapped himself around Jack, who pulled their large blanket tight. The calm grey of the day was giving way to a violently windy sunset that streaked orange clouds across the sky. Sand lifted and settled, and Will lifted the bottle to his lips. He passed it back, and watched Jack take a very long drink.

"Y'know, I wanted to drink rum this morning," Jack slurred, a weird sound with modern accents. "I wanted it so bad I didn't touch the bottle. We doin' the right thing, y' think?"

"We...we've got to trust ourselves..." That sounded awfully profound, Will thought. Awfully wrong and awfully right, too, at the same time.

"Do you trust yourself?" Jack asked, drunkenly serious. He took another drink.

"Guess it depends which self we're talking about." Will grabbed the bottle back.

"Don' think he meant...y'know. All this..."

"I dunno, anymore. 'S amazing, though. You and me, we're just you and me, and we're this tight after a week. Thank God we didn't lose that too."

"When it's real, it's real, y'know?" Jack drank more, then turned and kissed Will sloppily. He returned the kiss in the same fashion.

"Y'wanna stand up and watch the sun set?" Jack asked at length. They tried, twice, and then decided to forget standing. At this point, they could barely crawl. They traded rum-soaked kisfullfull of need and desperation, and then Jack turned to the horizon and stared at the disappearing sun from the sandy ground.

"'S a ship...I see a ship...'s beautiful..." He reached out a hand as if to touch it, and then collapsed facedown.

Will couldn't see it, but then, he couldn't see much anymore. There came a roaring in his ears and he felt very warm. Everything went strange, and then went black.

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