Ad Infinitum
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
2,432
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male › Jack/Will
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
18
Views:
2,432
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: We do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. We do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9: Mens rea
****
Chapter 9: Mens rea
****
“Jesus bloody Mary Mother of God!”
The words came in a strange whirring sound, since the man shook himself thoroughly while releasing them.
Then he took another step from the door he’d just closed behind him, and tossed a severed finger on top of a map on the table. Next, he made to wipe his hands to his sash, but was halted, struck with the sight of a bottle of rum on the corner of the table.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jack said to the thin air.
Every single drop of brash behaviour was sucked out of the Captain as he grabbed the bottle wearily, shoulders slumped, eyes glazed over with exhaustion.
Jack slumped down in his chair and was about to open the bottle when he saw the finger pointing at him accusingly. Sighing, Jack pulled the cork open with his teeth and leaned forward, his other hand extended under the table.
“You know,” Jack addressed the digit with a nod. “For being dead, you’re still a great bloody waste of perfectly decent rum,” he mumbled as he washed first the one, then the other hand with the rum, and dried them off on his breeches.
He raised the bottle with a less than enthusiastic wave. “Well. To your health.”
All but an inch short of draining the bottle, Jack clanked it on the table and was faced with the cut member again, its powers of pointing directly to Jack’s guilt only heightening by the second.
“What?” Jack asked it apathetically. “I did what I had to. You know how he is when he’s upset.” His arms splayed to prove good intentions lowered slowly, when there was a horrified twist in Jack’s stomach, and his face distorted into a sincere apology.
“I guess you don’t.”
Trying to brighten up, Jack clapped his hands to his knees with determination. “Well, I’ll tell you all about Will one day, but now, we need to find you a box. You can’t run around like that, it’s not decent.”
Jack looked around himself, finding nothing to complete his thought with, until he glanced back to the bottle. “That is a wonderful idea, darling, good thinking!” Jack smirked at his own wits and promptly pried the cork open, snatched the finger gingerly, and plopped it into the bottle with a soft *splop.*
“Much more better.” Jack watched the finger float in the liquid. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a moment and…fuck it.”
The final string that held Jack’s composure snapped abruptly, and Jack hit his head to the table with a thunk. “You would think,” came the muffled sound directed to his lap, “that after all this time, it would’ve become a tad more easier, right?” Jack looked up again, face slack.
At least the finger seemed to be listening.
“Well, let me tell you something. It’s not.”
Jack heaved a long-suffering sigh and held his eyes closed for a moment, gathering himself laboriously.
“I’d wager,” he continued conversationally while bending next to the table and picked up another bottle from a crate, strategically placed within the reach. “You have some idea what I’m talking about….”
Jack plucked the fresh bottle of rum open, clinked it to the one on the table in salute, chugged down a good portion of the liquid, and poured out his aching heart.
****
Captain Will Turner was still.
Hands stoically on the railing, gazing down the side of the Black Pearl with unseeing, dry eyes, he fought to keep his eyes open in fear of what he might see…or what he might not.
The seven years as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman stood in sharp relief to his memories, and no matter how hard, how desperately he’d tried to cling onto them, they faded.
Will’s eyes sought for an anchorage, and found it wrapped around his wrist.
The threadbare piece of cloth from Elizabeth’s dress had served as a reminder, her sweet scent all too soon overcome with the damp air of the sea, still, the moment lived with it. Right until Will had lost that, too, in the battle against the eternal hands of time.
He felt a tug of shame somewhere around where his heart used to be at the recollection of jumping at the opportunity to see Elizabeth again.
It was true what AnaMaria had said about making his peace, yet, the excitement had nearly covered the grief.
The things he would do, only to remember. Anything.
“Elizabeth.” There was no one to answer the whispered call.
Will drew a long, shuddering breath through his nose and let his eyes flutter closed. He brushed his hand over the cloth on his wrist, the touch bringing back the faintest sense of what had once been, his mouth slightly open to beckon the memory of a memory of her scent forth…
And there she was - the gust of wind, her whisper on his cheek, the warmth of the sun, her gentle touch, the light’s play on the sea’s ripple, the loving sparkle of her eyes, the salt on his lips, her tender kiss… Fractions, fleeting, evasive parts of Will’s mind fighting to form a clear picture, fluttering in and out of his reach. Will smiled forlornly at the disjointed image, head tilted to see better, to feel her fingertips ghost over his skin, to remember, treasure, keep, save --
“You can’t leave, Will. You can‘t find me.”
Will’s eyes flung wide open as he whirled around in panic and shivered violently. “Elizabeth?”
There was no one there, only the covered corpse inhabited the lifeless deck. Still, sure as eggs, it had been Elizabeth‘s sorrowful voice.
The lingering phantasm in Will’s mind crashed to the ground as the revelation clamped around his throat; She was right.
Will rushed to the Great Cabin, and stormed in without knocking.
Taking in the scene of Jack snapping his head up from the table, dumbfound and startled as if awoken from a dream, along with the sight of what had to be a digit floating in a bottle, Will briskly dismissed it all and uttered, agitated: “I can’t leave. I can’t go on shore.”
Jack was up on his feet in an instant, staggering, his chair scraping the floor in the haste.
“What ye mean you can’t leave, you’ve the blessings of the sea monster herself! Of course you can!”
One look at the bottle on the table, and Jack pushed himself past Will and out of the cabin.
“No. Who would guide the dead? The Dutchman needs a captain.” Will explained, shaking his head helplessly while keeping up with Jack.
Halting in mid step, Jack turned to Will slowly.
The moment ticked away as Jack measured Will incredulously, and spoke quietly. “Never thought of that.” Shifting on his feet, eyes raking the deck, Jack frowned deeply. “You think the sea witch could help with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thought not. You bloody deities are just like that, never quite thinking things through before taking action.”
“I’m not-”
“And furthermore,” Jack continued in the same breath. “The complete lack of consideration towards anything but themselves is appalling! The nerve, to show up unannounced, and just ‘poof’,” Jack gestured lividly along with his preaching. “Suddenly they’re nowhere to be found again, leaving people to their own devices. Bloody typical. And why does that sound so familiar?” A quizzical look appeared in Jack’s eyes.
“Jack.” Will attempted to stop the flow of words.
At Will’s raised eyebrows and the slight bow of the head towards somewhere behind him, Jack rolled his eyes. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”
When Will nodded in confirmation, with what Jack could swear was a wicked little smile, Jack slouched around sheepishly, drawing on a smiley, happy face that couldn‘t have fooled anyone.
“Calypso. What a pleasant surprise.”
****
Chapter 9: Mens rea
****
“Jesus bloody Mary Mother of God!”
The words came in a strange whirring sound, since the man shook himself thoroughly while releasing them.
Then he took another step from the door he’d just closed behind him, and tossed a severed finger on top of a map on the table. Next, he made to wipe his hands to his sash, but was halted, struck with the sight of a bottle of rum on the corner of the table.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jack said to the thin air.
Every single drop of brash behaviour was sucked out of the Captain as he grabbed the bottle wearily, shoulders slumped, eyes glazed over with exhaustion.
Jack slumped down in his chair and was about to open the bottle when he saw the finger pointing at him accusingly. Sighing, Jack pulled the cork open with his teeth and leaned forward, his other hand extended under the table.
“You know,” Jack addressed the digit with a nod. “For being dead, you’re still a great bloody waste of perfectly decent rum,” he mumbled as he washed first the one, then the other hand with the rum, and dried them off on his breeches.
He raised the bottle with a less than enthusiastic wave. “Well. To your health.”
All but an inch short of draining the bottle, Jack clanked it on the table and was faced with the cut member again, its powers of pointing directly to Jack’s guilt only heightening by the second.
“What?” Jack asked it apathetically. “I did what I had to. You know how he is when he’s upset.” His arms splayed to prove good intentions lowered slowly, when there was a horrified twist in Jack’s stomach, and his face distorted into a sincere apology.
“I guess you don’t.”
Trying to brighten up, Jack clapped his hands to his knees with determination. “Well, I’ll tell you all about Will one day, but now, we need to find you a box. You can’t run around like that, it’s not decent.”
Jack looked around himself, finding nothing to complete his thought with, until he glanced back to the bottle. “That is a wonderful idea, darling, good thinking!” Jack smirked at his own wits and promptly pried the cork open, snatched the finger gingerly, and plopped it into the bottle with a soft *splop.*
“Much more better.” Jack watched the finger float in the liquid. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking a moment and…fuck it.”
The final string that held Jack’s composure snapped abruptly, and Jack hit his head to the table with a thunk. “You would think,” came the muffled sound directed to his lap, “that after all this time, it would’ve become a tad more easier, right?” Jack looked up again, face slack.
At least the finger seemed to be listening.
“Well, let me tell you something. It’s not.”
Jack heaved a long-suffering sigh and held his eyes closed for a moment, gathering himself laboriously.
“I’d wager,” he continued conversationally while bending next to the table and picked up another bottle from a crate, strategically placed within the reach. “You have some idea what I’m talking about….”
Jack plucked the fresh bottle of rum open, clinked it to the one on the table in salute, chugged down a good portion of the liquid, and poured out his aching heart.
****
Captain Will Turner was still.
Hands stoically on the railing, gazing down the side of the Black Pearl with unseeing, dry eyes, he fought to keep his eyes open in fear of what he might see…or what he might not.
The seven years as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman stood in sharp relief to his memories, and no matter how hard, how desperately he’d tried to cling onto them, they faded.
Will’s eyes sought for an anchorage, and found it wrapped around his wrist.
The threadbare piece of cloth from Elizabeth’s dress had served as a reminder, her sweet scent all too soon overcome with the damp air of the sea, still, the moment lived with it. Right until Will had lost that, too, in the battle against the eternal hands of time.
He felt a tug of shame somewhere around where his heart used to be at the recollection of jumping at the opportunity to see Elizabeth again.
It was true what AnaMaria had said about making his peace, yet, the excitement had nearly covered the grief.
The things he would do, only to remember. Anything.
“Elizabeth.” There was no one to answer the whispered call.
Will drew a long, shuddering breath through his nose and let his eyes flutter closed. He brushed his hand over the cloth on his wrist, the touch bringing back the faintest sense of what had once been, his mouth slightly open to beckon the memory of a memory of her scent forth…
And there she was - the gust of wind, her whisper on his cheek, the warmth of the sun, her gentle touch, the light’s play on the sea’s ripple, the loving sparkle of her eyes, the salt on his lips, her tender kiss… Fractions, fleeting, evasive parts of Will’s mind fighting to form a clear picture, fluttering in and out of his reach. Will smiled forlornly at the disjointed image, head tilted to see better, to feel her fingertips ghost over his skin, to remember, treasure, keep, save --
“You can’t leave, Will. You can‘t find me.”
Will’s eyes flung wide open as he whirled around in panic and shivered violently. “Elizabeth?”
There was no one there, only the covered corpse inhabited the lifeless deck. Still, sure as eggs, it had been Elizabeth‘s sorrowful voice.
The lingering phantasm in Will’s mind crashed to the ground as the revelation clamped around his throat; She was right.
Will rushed to the Great Cabin, and stormed in without knocking.
Taking in the scene of Jack snapping his head up from the table, dumbfound and startled as if awoken from a dream, along with the sight of what had to be a digit floating in a bottle, Will briskly dismissed it all and uttered, agitated: “I can’t leave. I can’t go on shore.”
Jack was up on his feet in an instant, staggering, his chair scraping the floor in the haste.
“What ye mean you can’t leave, you’ve the blessings of the sea monster herself! Of course you can!”
One look at the bottle on the table, and Jack pushed himself past Will and out of the cabin.
“No. Who would guide the dead? The Dutchman needs a captain.” Will explained, shaking his head helplessly while keeping up with Jack.
Halting in mid step, Jack turned to Will slowly.
The moment ticked away as Jack measured Will incredulously, and spoke quietly. “Never thought of that.” Shifting on his feet, eyes raking the deck, Jack frowned deeply. “You think the sea witch could help with that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Thought not. You bloody deities are just like that, never quite thinking things through before taking action.”
“I’m not-”
“And furthermore,” Jack continued in the same breath. “The complete lack of consideration towards anything but themselves is appalling! The nerve, to show up unannounced, and just ‘poof’,” Jack gestured lividly along with his preaching. “Suddenly they’re nowhere to be found again, leaving people to their own devices. Bloody typical. And why does that sound so familiar?” A quizzical look appeared in Jack’s eyes.
“Jack.” Will attempted to stop the flow of words.
At Will’s raised eyebrows and the slight bow of the head towards somewhere behind him, Jack rolled his eyes. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”
When Will nodded in confirmation, with what Jack could swear was a wicked little smile, Jack slouched around sheepishly, drawing on a smiley, happy face that couldn‘t have fooled anyone.
“Calypso. What a pleasant surprise.”
****