Repression, Obsession & Past Life Regression

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Taxes Part 3 - Repression, Obsession, and Past Life Regression
Part 7 of 8: Pearl and Smith
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"Wake up, Jack."

A voice in his ear. A slurring whisper. He knew that voice.

"Up, c'mon, now. Open your eyes."

Jack Byrd opened his eyes and found that to his surprise, he was standing. He took a step to catch his balance and flailed, just a bit. The ground moved.

"You know her rhythm. Let yourself remember."

He stood alone on the deck of a sailing ship. The sun was so bright it hurt his eyes, but they slowly began to adjust. His eyes roamed the deck first, then the rails, the masts, the rigging...

It was the most beautiful thing in the world, and so he knew where he must be.

"The Black Pearl," he whispered. He felt a tear track down one cheek.

"Aye, the Pearl. Lovely strumpet, eh?" The voice no longer whispered, and it was right in his ear. He whirled, to face...himself...

And not himself. Long, matted strands of hair, beads and coins chiming, a red bandanna and a brown leather hat. The ubiquitous kohl.

"Jack Sparrow."

"Oh, y' wound me. You of *all* people should know better."

"I of all people should be able to leave the 'Captain' off."

"...You might be right, at that."

"How are we here?" Byrd asked, turning slowly, taking it - her - all in. "This isn't just a dream."

"Oh, concerning the Pearl, nothing'sst* st* anything. It is a dream, and it isn't."

"That's what I just said."

"And just what I said. And now that we're clear on what we've said to each other, or ourselves, or ourself as the case may be..."

"Am I this annoying to listen to?"

"Only when you're in top form. Otherwise you can only aspire."

"I aspire to additional information as to the intent of this assignation." Sparrow grinned in response. Byrd let out a breath, and it issued forth with a bit more anguish than he intended. His other self heard, or felt, and stiffened. "You've been gone all day, Jack! Where did you go?!"

"Isn't it obvious, then, mate?" The smile on his face was pained as he doffed his cap and swept it out to indicate the blue expanse. "I went sailing. You came to the right place to find me, though, as it happens."

"Sailing..." Byrd looked down, shaking his head. His eye caught a star-shaped whorl on the deck planking that he instinctively knew would be there. The swirling grain drew him in and he shook his head slowly. "Everything was so cold and pale and...modern. And so was I. It was...it was all so flat..." But the smooth, weathered wood beneath his palm distracted him. His eyes slid shut, and he caressed the carved railing like a lover. "Oh, my. Oh, I can't stay mad here, Jack."

"Whereas I could fairly well stay mad everywhere. But I thought you might feel that way. I wanted to give you this. We're here that I might ...ap...apol..." He shushed Byrd with a twisting wave of his hand. "No, I know the word, I just don't do it very often. We're here that I might apologize."

In a rambling skip-hop, he was back at Byrd's side, this time wrapping an arm about his doppelganger's shoulders. There was scent here, Byrd realized, and Jack Sparrow's was all rum and ocean. "I thought," the pirate went on, "that Barbossa had gone and learned me lesson for me, as far as greed goes. But it seems I've still the ability to take what isn't mine, in any amount."

"What isn't...God, Jack, I'm meant to have you within me. I never have been entirely a part of this modern world. There wasn't a thing you did tI diI didn't...or wn'tn't..."

Jack Sparrow shook his head. "One of me gifts, mate. They always think it's their idea. Except, occasionally, for Bootstrap, and more rarely, his whelp." He turned his head so that he looked his other self directly in the eyes, perhaps an inch awayIf yIf you'd grown tired of waiting, before Will made his point, or if you'd fought me for any reason, I can't say that I know what would have happened. It may be that you'd have had a devil of a time getting me to let go. And that's not to mention me trapping you in slumber, all unwitting, which I may in fact have done."

"I have to say," Byrd replied slowly, "that one of the disadvantages of being such a wonderfully convoluted speaker is that you sometimes begin to believe your own lines of crap. Yes, I'm utterly seduced by you. But you forget that somewhere deep down, I know what you know and you know what I know. And I know that you're neither a ghoul nor a demon. I know if you'd truly felt me in pain...and believe me, I'd have woken in pain if I'd missed the chance to take other folks' money, *legally...* " Here Byrd smiled, his own slightly cracked grin. "...it wouldn't have been fun anymore. And I know that that's what you ran from today. You ran from the pain of pulling back too far, which you caused the same way, for your fear. No man, not me nor you, should be so far from the rest of his soul."

"Ah. You know, as you figured that out, so did I?" The deep eyes were serious. "I did not mean to run so far, nor cause either of us such pain. You know that, do ye not, and why we had to come here."

"Oh, aye," Byrd said, voice beginning to match Sparrow's cadence. "This heals us. As the Pearl's a part of our soul, no less than you or I."

He phased modern again in an instant. "You have to know, though, that I don't begrudge you anything. You and Will Turner awakening brought magic to my life. It's true that a pirate can't live in this world, but he can play in it. You can use me. Believe me, I'll have fun too."

"Really?" And Jack Byrd began to distrust that wide-eyed grin, as Sparrow wrapped another arm about him and brought him close.

He was right to, of course. "Use you, he says."

Then Jack Byrd was being kissed quite soundly by his pirate other. His eyes widened with surprise as Sparrow's widened even further with glee. He him himself responding, reverberating like a plucked guitar string. When they broke apart, he gasped, "Okay, this is weird. Even for me."

"It's enough of a dream that anything can happen. Isn't that the best thing about dreams?" And deft weathered fingers shed his suit, while his hands had minds of their own, undoing buckles, buttons, and belts.

When they sank, naked, to the sun-drenched deck of the Black Pearl, Byrd murmured, "...this is such an Austin Powers moment..."

"Well," rep replied, between kisses applied to collarbones, "It *isn't* actually cheating..." Byrd had never been on the receiving end of that next nipple-scraping kiss, and it made him hiss with need.

"I knew there was a reason I always did that. And this..." "This" made Sparrow moan.

"Ah. You know, I think we really need to finish my apology."

"Why do I think your apology is going to be as much fun for you as it is for me?"

"Because you're a wise man what knows himself." There was a kiss then that seemed to involve both their bodies entirely, stiffening, pressing, pulling, rolling...Sparrow ended up on his back, legs skewed.

"By every god and demon what are you *waiting* for?"

"We don't...there isn't..."

"It's a dream, remember? Dive on in."

"Oh, right." And then it wasn't so much diving as exploding together, atoms colliding. Sparrow pushed down hard as Byrd pushed in, the two groaning in tandem in identical voice. They rocked together, dual sensations spreading, being filled, being enclosed...no pain at all, only pleasure, and union, pure, utter union. The thought that had rushed through his mind when Jack Sparrow first woke returned as a swamping wave.

//I am. Oh, God. I...am...//

We. Are.

After, they floated, somewhere warm and dark, a place that was a prelude to waking.

//So, how do you suppose Will and Will are working things out?//

//Those two? Oh, knowing them, having a polite, civilized conversation about honor, or some rot.//

//I wonder...//

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In an empty smithy, swords clashed. No master, this time, and ule.ule. Merely two men, one, again, a pirate.

The other? Middle management. But here, in this place, old instincts awoke, those of his past self. It was a damned good thing, too, since that was whom he fought.

"You fight dirty," Will Smith observed.

"Pirate," Will Turner shrugged.

"Not at all what I meant," Smith said, leaping onto the broken cart. "Barbossa? An *apple,* for God's sake?"

"And for yours." A jump, and Smith was in the rafters. Another, and Turner joined him. "And for his."

"For his...! Yeah, he's doing great, isn't he? Do you know how it hurts to see him so *empty*!?" Swords met with a metallic click and Smith whipped his away and up, only to meet Turner's again at the top.

"I meant Jack Sparrow, though the same holds for your Byrd."

"You aren't a great listener, are you?" Smith punctuated his speech with bladework. "Jack. Went. Through. Hell!" On the last word he lunged, and Turner overbalanced, slipping from the beams and landing hard in sand, though on his feet. "And you can bet your identical ass that if Byrd went through hell, your Captain Sparrow did too."

"I do not doubt it," Turner said, twitching his blade in invitation. "Nor do I relish it. But what I said needed to be said, and what I did needed to be done."

"You sound like fucking Norrington, you know that?"

"Norrington was...is...a good man, and you know that."

"Maybe I meant to say you sound like a judgmental bastard." Smith grabbed a rope and slid to the ground, his blade engaging Turner's again. "It scares you, doesn't it, how easily I give up control? To Jack, to you, to..." He smiled slightly, edged as the sword, "...well, a lot of people. You know, I'm starting to think that I've been compensating for your hang-ups my whole life."

Then Smith had to weave back as Turner's blade caught the edge of his sleeve, creating a vent. "And do you think," the pirate smith replied, "that perhaps you've gone a bit too far in the other direction?"

"I don't fucking believe this. My past life thinks I'm a slut." He snarled as he compensated and attacked again. "I have never had a problem taking what was freely given. Or giving to be freely taken. That isn't even piracy. It's trade." Metal hit metal, faster than heartbeats. "Even after all Jack's efforts, you were never comfortable being a piratere yre you?"

"And should one be?" Turner asked. "I reached an accommodation with myself, in time, and accepted who I was, what I was. What I needed in the sea and a pirate's life. That never guaranteed comfort with acts of piracy, nor should it have. Piracy is theft, Will. It is removingm pem people what is their own." His blade caught Smith's and slid along it to the hilt. "As to the rest, you did not jump into bed with your Jack. You waited months. Nour uur usual pattern. Why was that?"

"Because there was something *there.* Something to build on, a connection we could use to forge a relationship. I felt it...he felt it...and I didn't want to screw things up. Again."

"I understand that," Turner whispered. "The need to make something perfect, something pure."

They broke apart and Smith swung against Turner once more, metebouebounding with a ringing tone. Then Will Smith raised his sword high... and threw it away. "Goddamn it, I am through with this fucking cliché." He sat on a hay bale and rested his head in his hands.

Turner stared at him a moment, then laid his sword aside. "It is getting a bit old, isn't it?" He took a seat on a barrel, across and to one side. "Did it work?"

"You mean, am I still angry with you? Yeah. But I'm tired, too, Will...tired of fighting with you, fighting with myself. Because the hell of it is that I understand why you did and said what you did." Head down, he looked up, eyes hooded. "You...we...you know we never trusted him enough."

"I trust Jack Sparrow with my heart and soul. So yes, you're right, it is not enough, because I have never fully trusted him with his own." He took a deep breath. "I know I caused pain, and for that I am truly sorry."

"But?"

"No buts. I'm sorry, Will. Not just because your pain is mine, but also because Jack suffered, both of them. I did not intend for any of us to get so lost." He looked up to meet his other self's eyes. "I do ask, though, that you consider one thing."

"Yeah? What?"

"It may seem a bit radical."

"Just spill."

"Jack...is not always right."

"Oh, hell, I *knew* that..."

"But have you really thought about it? He was and is brilliant, then and now, and he is also capable of being spectacularly wrong. It is given to us to tell him, when we feel the need, though it cause pain." Turner stood and walked to Smith's side. "No one can utterly save Jack Sparrow from himself save himself, but we are bound to aid him. He's capable of being a great man. It's for us to see that he remains capable of being a good one."

"Massively co-dependent," Smith murmured. "I knew it."

"A modern concept," Turner replied, "for a very old feeling. Now, come." He walked to the forge, then beckoned, and Smith slid from the hay, followed him over.

"I'm making a sword," Turner said. "Would you like to try it?"

Memories of heat and the ring of metal swirled in Smith, and watching him, Turner smiled. The fire roared as he approached. Smith ran his hands slowly across hammer, tongs, and anvil. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then began.

It might have been an instant, an hour, or a day. Will juggled water, oils, sand, heat, steel. The process returned to him...it had been one of the first things to return to him the night Turner woke. By and by, his arms ached.

"Hurts?" Turner asked.

"Yeah."

"I am minded of something old Brown told me during one of his rare sober hours." Turner ran his hands along Smith's corded muscles. "There is no creation without pain, and no change. Will, coming to know me and Jack Sparrow, and Elizabeth - that is a profound change. There will be some pain in this. And I think there can be much joy. Pain or no, I would not trade waking in you for sleeping on."

"Nor woultradtrade you back, if I could." And the statement brought less surprise than Will thought it should.

"Now, look at what you've wrought."

Will held the new sword up to the light. No single-edged pirate's cutlass was this. It was a thing of beauty...

"...a double-edged sword. Oh yeah, you're subtle." And Turner smirked, slightly. "But I feel ... better, somehow. Like I'm building on something, giving...I mean, it's a weapon, it takes lives, but..."

"'a coa contradiction."

"Like me. Like you."

"Very much like," Turner murmured. "We are both blacksmith and pirate. We may take, as we will, but we must also create."

"Sea and forge. Water and fire."

"Just so..."

"Judgml bal bastard..." Smith sighed. "I ought to look in the mirror more often. I'm not angry with you anymore. Still, there is something you must to do for me."

"Aye?"

"Don't fear to accept my gifts when they're offered," said Will Smith to Will Turner, voice catching and softening into the accents of his prior self. "I offer you myself, when there be a need, as you have already given of your soul. 'Twas your life that forged mine, this I know."

"We have an accord," Turner replied, and stepped behind him, enfolding Will in an embrace. Every point of contact between them tingled. Lines blurred, one shifted forward, the other backward...they began to overlap...

Oneness...wholeness...as one their eyes shut, and there was a feel of vertigo, briefly, as they sank into one another...it was almost unbearable, this knowing, a pleasure so keen it was very nearly painful and they simply breathed and existed and *were* as the world fell away...

After, they floated in their own strange space on the verge of consciousness.

//So, how do you suppose Jack and Jack are working things out?//

//Probably rutting like ferrets.//

//...You're probably right.//


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