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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. Graphic violence and character death. Some main characters dead previous to beginning of story.
Pairing: Mainly, Will Turner/James Norrington, Jacques/Jack/José Gaspar.
Feedback: Favorite lines, constructive suggestions, etc. are all welcome.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine except these versions of Jacques and José (sort of).
Notes: Jacques uses the occasional French phrase (still shouldn't interfere with reading); translations upon request. //words// in Spanish. Modern-day parallel universe. Jacques looks like Brad Pitt, and José like Antonio Banderas. Some supernatural stuff. Special guest from Shrek II. 'Chewing boots' is courtesy of fuzipenguin and her kitty.
Summary: In which some things finally end, and some get on with life.
***
"You don't have to die: heaven and hell are in this world, too."-Japanese proverb
***
While the backside view was certainly lovely, James reluctantly acknowledged that more pressing issues had to be addressed. Consequently, he could not simply lean against the porch railing and enjoy the sight of Will crawling around the lawn, poking his head under the bushes that lined the house and thus waving his ass high in the air.
"Like the red button," came a sly voice from beside James, and he startled back to see Jacques lounging in the doorway. "You know. The one you're never supposed to push, because that'll destroy everything, but you do it anyway?"
The other man wore a provocative smile, white and full and just lopsided enough so that a good slap would knock it straight. James' palms began to curl into fists, but he kept them locked to the railing. "Did you need something?" he asked, as politely as he could manage.
"No. I'm only taking in the sights, like everyone else." Apparently, Jacques had changed his mind about their truce. His pointed glance towards Will definitely had nothing of placation about it.
"Knock that off." Will's irritated face popped up, and he glared equally at Jacques and at James. "Playing nice means no teasing, either."
Jacques sighed, and dropped into a crouch at the top edge of the front steps. For a moment, he looked as if he were going to argue further, and James prepared to intervene. But then the other man produced a tired grin, shoulders abruptly relaxing, and ruffled the leaves out of Will's hair. "Quelle plouc! You never let me have any fun with you now. But you're cute, so I forgive you."
//And I piss on your forgiveness.// In contrast to Will's sharp tone, his eyes were slowly taking on a mischievous twinkle. James untensed, which apparently caught the other man's eye. Will sat down on the top step and threw an inviting glance at James, then tugged Jacques down till the six-foot ragdoll was comfortably draped over Will's lap. "Don't suppose either of you have seen Puss?"
"No." James stayed back and cautiously took in the situation, but when the pleading-kitten eyes materialized, he finally had to give in. Still careful about avoiding contact with Jacques, he took a seat next to Will. "I think that cat is a bad influence on you."
"What?" Puzzled Will was absolutely adorable, and James had to look away before he embarrassed himself. Or started another fight with the purring man now arching under Will's lazy massaging.
Shoulderblades grew sharp, outlines pushing through crisp white linen, and then they smoothed down under long tanned fingers that made elegant curves over Jacques' back. It made for an appealing picture, James supposed. Too appealing; he was starting to pray that Jack would come round to collect his unorthodox pet, and soon. He wanted to talk to Will, not watch a blatant flaunting of what parts of Will he didn't have, and was never going to have, due to the simple fact that he'd not met Will sooner. They weren't conditions that he could change, and in fact, weren't conditions that particularly bothered him. It would have been hypocritical for him to be offended, when a part of him was always going to be lost to Elizabeth.
But it also wasn't quite the same, and therein lay the hurt. The burning red high in James' cheeks that made him turn away, and silently swallow bitter ashes. Because while the missing bits of James were buried where no one could now see them, James had only to look next to him to see a little slice of Will held close in Jacques' breast.
"Your beggar's face," Jacques answered, lolling rather more than he had to. When a mocking smirk graced his face, more of it was directed at James than at Will, its ostensible target. Then he twisted so his gaze insolently met that of his real opponent. "But he didn't learn the trick of those big eyes from Puss, you know. He learned it from José-ow! Will!"
Who appeared both aware of and less than happy with the proceedings going on around him. He ignored Jacques' yelps and tightened his grip in the other man's hair, then tugged until they were face-to-face. "Jacques. If I want people to have pissing contests over me, I'll put myself up for auction. Get me?"
"Yes, yes-" struggling, and then a sudden freeze as they locked eyes "-yes. I understand." Jacques' voice dropped, full of pained resignation. "But old habits die hard."
"No shit." Will held the hard pose for a moment longer, and then he melted as quickly as butter on a hot corncob, fingers going from stiff to almost liquid as they combed through Jacques' hair. He hauled on Jacques' hip, and James had an unexpected lapful of squirming blond.
Oddly enough, Jacques' expression was extremely uncomfortable, and for once the other man seemed at a loss for clever quips. "Will, I'm not quite this open to experimentation," James muttered. He would have said more, except the added weight was throwing him off-balance and he was too busy trying to figure out where he could put his hands. "Perhaps I should come back later-"
His hand was grabbed and pushed past flapping white shirt-tails until it touched warm skin. Jacques abruptly went limp and emitted a small, pleased sound, which visibly surprised both him and James.
"Fun, isn't it?" Will snickered. "Here, scratch like this…"
"Turner, you salaud…oh…don't…" Jacques wriggled and flopped, trying to growl in between bursts of helpless laughter as he was tickled. He was much softer than James had thought, and younger as well, when the layer of slick-sharp metal was stripped from him. There was something of the deprived child about Jacques' instinctive movements into warmth, even when being tormented, and it made him…human. Not so much the wary guardian of the gate as the little boy peering wistfully through the window.
Then their eyes met, and James dismissed any resulting thoughts of weakness. Vulnerable Jacques may be, but his gaze was too piercing to be taken lightly. As Will had shown James, a vast difference lay between having a wound and being wounded, and that distinction was very present in Jacques' eyes.
They watched each other as equals would, sizing up their opponent and carefully considering all options. Beside James, Will slowly stopped laughing, and instead turned an intense but opaque regard on them.
It was impossible to tell who broke first and glanced at Will, but the credit for chuckling first was indisputably Jacques'. The man snorted his amusement to the bright day, climbing off James' legs and onto his own feet with enviable aplomb and grace. "You're going to be awful for each other," he said, shaking his head. "But do as you like; I'll just enjoy the view."
"As always," Will muttered as he scooted over and leaned into James. "Damn it, where is that cat?"
"Are you sure he didn't run off?" Jacques queried. "Anamaria was mumbling about bell-collars and deworming earlier."
"Yes, I'm sure. I can feel those little eyes, staring from somewhere and fucking laughing…no!" Will clapped his hands to his mouth in a perfect parody of a bubblehead mistakenly having an actual idea instead of the usual fluffy nonsense. Wide-eyed, he stared at Jacques. "That's you! Fucking hell, Jacques. You're screwing up my cat-locating skills."
The other man drew himself up in mock-offense and stalked through the door. "Fine. If I'm not wanted here, I'll simply remove myself." He flashed a half-leering, half-smug grin over his shoulder. "Maybe go play with the other cat. Nicely."
"God help José." Warm breath coasting across the front of James' throat. Will tucked himself under one of James' arms, and slid his fingers between James' own. "Then again, he could use some compensation for his leg. So never mind."
And they were finally alone, with only the distant babble of Tortuga and the searing eye of the jealous but faraway sun. James nudged into Will's hair until he was nuzzling the other man's nape, and breathed deep of the scents there. Sweat, skin most present in that, but he also smelled undertones of citrus and leather and, inevitably, steel.
He'd always loved swords; they were more demanding than guns, but the art that could be found within the long sweep of silver was more than adequate recompense. The cut of the blade gave death a kind of beauty, and sometimes even an ascetic dignity, that bullets could never provide.
But they were still ways to kill, and he couldn't forget that, either. Pump a corpse full of preserving liquids, dress it up in make-up and clothes, but the crude stitches holding the limp fragments still didn't vanish. The blush of life didn't return to the slack pallid cheeks. And a perfect thrust and parry didn't bring back the lost futures.
James must have unconsciously tightened his grip on Will, because the other man abruptly twisted around and straddled his lap, looking concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Noth-" James began, but a deadly combination of ingrained honesty and suspicious eyes gazing directly at him permanently derailed the lie. The truth wasn't any easier to say, and in the end, he simply demonstrated. Leaned his forehead against Will's shoulder, and held onto the other man. "I just wanted a moment with you."
***
Even with all his knowledge of humanity, bad and good and mostly bad again, Jack had to admit it was a pretty picture. He quietly stepped away from the door and left Will and James to it. They'd all be leaving for the harbor soon enough, and there was no point in separating the pair before it was absolutely necessary.
But he did mentally scribble a note to himself that in the future, he should send someone else to bring in Will if he actually wanted to see the man.
"Sparrow, where the hell is Turner?" A strident voice zinged about the corner, and the spitting image of Bastet came around the corner, complete with menacingly peeved expression.
Odd…Jack had liked that statue a good deal, but he distinctly remembered Jacques and Will persuading him that pilfering New York museums was not the best way to acquaint oneself with that rollicking city. So what was it doing here? "Er…come again?"
The fuming goddess suddenly split into two halves, and he cringed, waiting for the Apocalyse to arrive. Unfortunately, it didn't and he was left with a literally spitting-mad cat and an equally pissed-off Anamaria. "He ate them, damn it! He fucking ate my boots-I checked! There are nibble marks!"
"Miaou," Puss sniffed, somehow looking as if he had the moral ground. Even though he was currently dangling by the scruff of his neck. Will wasn't going to-
--right. Jack hastily snatched the cat from her and shushed them all. "Anamaria, by tomorrow you'll be able to buy as many new pairs as you want. High heels, low ones, stilettos, chunks…and even matching purses. I promise. Just keep your voice down."
"Don't you tell me to keep my goddamn voice down. If I want to scream, I'll damn well…what? Why the hell are you flipping your hand like that?" She smacked his wrist from the air, as if knocking away a switchblade, and glowered.
"Anamaria, would you…take a look, all right? But be quiet about it, or you'll embarrass them. And then Will won't be happy with either of us." He finished up his plea with his best conciliatory face. Puss started to hiss again, and Jack hurriedly shoved the contrary furball's head into his sash. Which was looking rather ragged, and he really should be thinking about replacing it, even if it did have some very nice memories attached to it…
The passing gust of a furious wind refocused Jack's attention, and he anxiously kept watch as Anamaria stalked-silently, thank everything-to the front door. She peeped through the gap for a long, tense minute, and then she slowly backed away. Her expression was a strange mixture of reluctant appreciation and regret. "Well, well, Jack. You did bring him up right."
Something lurched off-center in Jack's stomach, and a weird, highly improbable suspicion surfaced. "You…don't tell me you've been eying Will…"
"What?" Anamaria was surprised enough to jerk and set her long earrings to chiming. Then she let out a soft laugh. "Nah. Though I had fun watching him and your two, like everyone else. I'll say this for you, Jack: whatever other gifts you've got, you do attract damn fine-looking company. Very fine."
"Thank you." He was polite about it, even though his new suspicion was that she wasn't being nearly as complimentary as she should have been.
"Keeps things appealing and interesting," she shrugged. Then she toed the door shut, careful not to make any noise, and leaned against it. Folded her hands across her chest, like she was measuring him for a coffin, or dinner, or something just as unpleasant. "Jack. I can't say that I get half of what passes for thought in your rum-brain, but I know this much. You really do love them. So why are you doing this?"
They'd known each other for a good long while, him and Anamaria. More importantly, they both knew the dirt that lingered beneath their nails, because it was the same kind of soil. Peas in a pod, almost, and sometimes beyond that, because neither one of them were hiding away, maturing in secret and waiting for the day they'd pop into the world's view. Not anymore. They'd seen the whole cycle of growth and fruit and rot, and they knew better than to fixate only on those cold facts. Man maybe could survive on knowledge alone, but he couldn't live.
So that was why she'd said what she'd said, and not asked her real question. And that was why he'd heard it anyway, and had decided to answer it. "Anamaria, there comes a time in every person's life when they've got to choose what matters to them."
"Look, don't bullshit me-"
"I'm not. Hear the rest, and then you can crack as many jokes as you please." Jack shifted Puss to his other arm, and adjusted some of the ornaments on his dreads while waiting for any interruptions. When none came, he resumed his discussion. "So I did. So Hector did. And what I picked and what he picked aren't mutually reconcilable realities. Someone's got to give, or die. I won't. He won't. And that settled it."
Interestingly, she didn't mention anything about men and pride, but instead, merely nodded. Thoughtful and quiet, and her whole demeanor was beginning to worry Jack. He needed her firebreathing and tactically raging, not reserved.
Damn. The one time he could use that strangely powerful anger women occasionally had, and it apparently wasn't the right day of the month.
"I get you." Anamaria opened her mouth, then paused. Smiled. "You see, this is why I never seriously went after your ass, in bed or out of it. Weird as it is, you and yours…it's nice to know that people like you can still come out on top." Then she turned serious again, and stabbed a threatening finger at Puss. "But keep that damn devil away from me. Honestly, I try to do a good thing for that furry bastard, and how does he thank me?"
As she appeared to be very preoccupied with her rant, which promised to be one of her best, Jack took the opportunity to slip off and leave her to it. He dropped Puss in a fairly empty room, trusting that the uncommonly canny cat had learned its lesson. Or learned to be a mite more wary of Anamaria, at least.
Then Jack found a vacant hallway and pulled out his compass. It'd spent a little too long locked up in some lifeless iron vault, and José and Jacques had had to do some work on it to get the thing dead reliable again. But the effort hadn't been wasted; when Jack looked at it, the pointer didn't waver at all.
Island of Death. One place Jack wouldn't forget in a hurry, even though he dearly wished he could.
"Welcome back," he muttered, snapping the compass back into its pocket. "Hope I'll be leaving soon."
Finding them took a second, and actually getting to the room was five minutes of expert weaving between the clumps of people that dotted the house. Good thing José hadn't ever sold his family house in Tortuga, despite all the bad blood there. And Jack wasn't even going to think about that. One mess at a time.
Two men, sprawling around polished bone bits, herbs, exotic glass bottles smelling of sharp incense and old blood. José rolled over onto his back as Jack approached, and rose up on elbows to meet Jack's lips.
Rum-laced heat. Jack squatted back on his haunches and curved his hands around the other man's face, fitting his thumbs into the soft hollows behind each ear. "You've been stealing my rum again."
"Maybe." Jacques crawled over and molded himself to Jack's side as all three went down to the floor. "But we've earned it. I'm exhausted, and if I never see another goat's knuckle, it wouldn't be too long."
In silent retort, José flicked said bone into the other man's face. Then Jack was in the middle of a mischievous tangle, batting aside grabs and kicks. And then he was in the center of a fading whirlpool, its fierce swirl slowing to languid gropes, brush of flesh and flesh. Hair and smiling lips, and if he never had to leave this, then he would consider himself a satisfied man.
Of course, the irony was that in order to have something to stay in, he first had to go. Jack reluctantly pulled the other two apart and nodded toward the clock on the wall. "Time to leave."
A mouth pressed up against his, hard and fast, and he felt the imprint on every inch of his skin. Then it was gone, and José was by the door, straightening his clothes. //Good luck//, he said in a curt, stiff voice.
Before Jack could thank him, or even raise a hand, the doorway was empty.
"He doesn't believe in long preludes." Jacques picked up Jack's hand and slowly rubbed it between his own. "Something about someone dying on him, once, while he was getting ready."
"I remember." And there was truth to that. The sooner they got to the fighting, the sooner the heavy anticipation would cease being ice lead in their bones.
Jack held the other man's hand to his lips for a moment, then got up and followed José. Enough waiting. He and Hector had done that for too long, and now it was time to make good on all the words, spoken and unspoken, that boiled between them. Some things just never left, and had to be cut out, like deep splinters.
***
The water turned black a mile out from the island, and a low mist gradually rolled over the boats, muffling them in thick deadened air. It ate the sun and then tried to engulf the ocean itself, but didn't quite manage that, which was fortunate. Those few glimpses of white froth slicing through the fog were probably all that kept the others from bolting. Jumping right off and swimming back to shore. They still thought about that-José could see it gleaming from almost every eye-but their faces were turned away from the coastline. Or where the coastline should still be.
"Jack had better slow his ass down," Anamaria muttered from beside him. She made an adjustment to their direction, then barked a few orders to the radio. One perfectly manicured nail of heart's blood jabbed the button, and the static fell out of the room, leaving them in eerie soft silence. "He's the only one who's got any idea where the hell we're going, and unless he wants his whole back open, he'd better rein himself in."
"He is." José pulled out a handful of salt and began sprinkling it about the floor and over the instruments. The minute crystals dropped like lead bobs through the pale wisps just curling under the door, and the mist jerked back, almost a living thing. He dabbed the last pinch of the salt beneath his tongue, grimacing at the intense burn but not swallowing against the burn.
Before them, the fog suddenly parted, knife-like, to show the boat Jack was captaining. A crowd nervously milled about the back, but occasionally a recognizable face would appear. Gibbs, mostly, and James. Once Will came out, but only to exchange a brief word with Norrington. Then he disappeared into the steering cabin, most likely to help Jacques with clearing off the spiderweb of power that was resisting their approach.
//Time to get out the machete//, José mumbled to himself, pulling out a small tin. He cracked it open and shuffled through the cigarillos inside until he'd found the one he wanted, then put it away. Slipped the cigarillo between his lips and lit up, blowing out smoke through his nostrils. As he did, his nerves seemed to snap loose and stretch to the horizon, blue-hot lines crisscrossing his vision, which had shifted to visceral red. Scarlet all around, but going so deep in front that it was like staring into a bullet-hole. "You ready?"
"Been ready for hours. I'm just about passing out from the wait," Anamaria replied, sarcasm jagged-edged and gleaming. She cranked up the speed, and everyone braced themselves.
A railing ran along the side, so José just hooked an arm through that while he took a long drag. Then he plucked the cigarillo from his lips and murmured the first words, letting them float out in small astringent clouds that stung his nose. The vermilion shades shattered, blackened, and tumbled away to reveal a world in the same colors it'd always been. Beneath his feet, the boat fiercely bucked once before settling into a seamless grounding. It had definitely been a good thing to speed up his leg's healing before they'd come out here, even if that had used a lot of energy. He wasn't going to be able to afford a limp.
"The hell…didn't even see the shore coming…" But Anamaria wasn't one to stop and puzzle over a mystery; she was swinging out the door as she spoke, gun sliding into one hand and blade slipping into the other. "Fuck."
Welcome party. Not that they'd been expecting anything else, but José had been hoping to actually get on shore before he had to bring out the big guns. He finished off his smoke and flicked the butt at the beach of shark-toothed, low-chuckling pirates. It arced high over the separating stretch of water and burst into a ball of flame at the apex of its flight. Before it started its descent, José was already lunging for the deck, and dragging Anamaria with him.
"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled.
The explosion drowned out his first reply, so he calmly waited for the after-rumbles to die away before trying again. "My day job. You've got five minutes to get on land before they start putting themselves back together."
"Well, fuck this for a beach party. I knew I should've pinned Jack to some goddamned details." She slammed her open palm against the planks, making them boom into already shocked air. "Get your asses on that sand, now! Last one out ain't never mooching off Sunday dinner at my house again!"
José beat her onto the shore for first place, but just barely. And only because she got sidetracked by an early riser. Anamaria did have the honor of blowing off the first head, and she knew it. Grinned like a devil at José, then moved onto the next body that was slowly growing back its legs.
Likewise, he shook out his pistols and started firing. Hissed out the rest of the barrier-breaking incantation when he could, and then moved on to the common curses. Saving his strength, because this was nothing compared to what was coming.
Though the snarling short one with the sparking beard seemed to disagree. His mad cackle rang and rang over the beach as he swirled randomly from fight to fight, stabbing here, kicking there. Once, he even acted as a living trip-stone and nearly sent one of Anamaria's face-down into a sword-tip.
José put a shot into each of the bastard's ankles as a greeting, and then dodged the firecracker braids as the other man howled and awkwardly rushed him. Blackish blood splashed over the sand as the man's feet finally gave out.
That didn't mean José could relax, though: something pricked at the edges of his senses, and he ducked low just in time to feel a blade whine overhead.
"Jacoby! Get him!" shouted a hoarse voice from behind, and the pirate before José suddenly lunged forward to seize one of his ankles. He went with the pull, let himself tumble into a messy somersault, and rolled up to kick Jacoby's maniacal grin with his other foot. Which put the other man beneath a fast-descending ax.
José yanked himself free of the suddenly-limp grip, then bounced back onto his heels and shot the ax-wielder three times in the face. He took a moment to wipe the brains and blood off his face before continuing with his chanting. That kind of bodily fluid tasted like shit when from a living person, and when it came from a dead one, the taste was ten times worse.
The beach abruptly fractured itself, forcing the pirates briefly into the water while Anamaria and hers ran for the high ground. She grabbed José's elbow as she passed and hauled him into the land entrance to the caves. "Damn. That was impressive."
Her expression was a little less awed when he paused to spit out blood. José caught the uncharacteristic worry in her look and shrugged, shoving herself further inside. "You have to pay for everything."
"Can't you just borrow, and pay back after the fucking fight?" She fired over his shoulder, and neither of them bothered to check for bodies. "I've got better things to do than to drag your sorry ass around."
"You won't have to." He willed the rising nausea to fuck off and concentrated on channeling his well-hidden rage into backhanding a charging pirate with his gun. Something broke under the metal, and warm fluid spurted over his hand. He flung it back at the crushed face and added a bullet, which bought them a little more time.
Reloading a gun while on the move was tricky. Doing it without accidentally shooting anything was a hell of a lot harder, but he'd had to do that enough times that he didn't even need to think about it. Which was good, because he had many other things to think about. Spells, counterspells, weave of magic in and out of living and dying flesh-they all jostled in his mind, clawing and snarling as much as the people fighting all around him were.
But that was fine. It kept his mind firmly with the current situation, and made sure it didn't drift off to Jack and the others. //I hate fighting when I can't keep an eye--//
A familiar burst of raspy giggles interrupted José, and he leaped back barely a second before Jacoby's two-by-four would have rammed into his stomach. //Motherfucking son of a bitch! May your beard be your end!//
"You really like fire," Anamaria observed as she punted some shithead across the passage. Then she backed up behind him to catch her breath and reload her pistol. "How long before he comes back from that?"
When José kicked the sizable pile of ashes, he made damned sure to spread it as far as he could. "A while."
Wide, conspiratorial grin. But she turned sober and grim when she rejoined the fighting. "How far in's Jack?"
In answer, José borrowed her long blade and hacked off a head before the rest of the body could gut a wounded man on the floor. He and Anamaria helped the whimpering man off to the side and kicked a gun over to him on their way back to the struggling masses of people.
"That far." Anamaria slanted a searching glance at him, then kneed a pirate in the groin and pistolwhipped him into unconsciousness. "Look, I asked for someone to come with our group. It was part of the accord Jack and me-"
"I'm not angry about that, believe me." A moment to pop a small bundle of herbs in his mouth, another to chew and spit, and then some babbling idiot was getting an eye-socket full of green paste. José snapped out the words that would turn that into acid, then rinsed out his mouth with some rum while Anamaria watched his back. "I'm angry that we have to do it here. If there's any place that scares Jack-fuck it. That isn't going to help."
"Damn straight. Is left clear?" She jerked her head at a fork in the path, which José could barely make out; it was getting darker.
Goddamned overused metaphors. He cast about for a jumping-off point, found a bundle of wires snaking about the wall, and snarled. And there was light-here, at least. Where the others were…
His memories pinched off, an instinctive reflex whenever he was seriously fighting. And a good one, because it wasn't wise to treat any battle as if it were a repeat of a past one. History didn't determine the future, and that, after all, was what they were trying to prove. So he should ignore the increasing thrum in his bones that wailed and shivered, and stop seeing disasters before they even happened. Because they weren't going to.
José suddenly wished he'd spoken longer with Jack before they'd left. And Jacques, and Will. But there was nothing he could do about that, and everything that he could do where he presently was.
A second of focus, and the path laid itself out before him. "It's open. Let's go."
And may the road before the absent sections of himself be just as clear.
***
They'd gone into the caves by the sea route, in a small rowboat. It was the one surprise that they were trying to put over Barbossa; Jack said he just wanted to avoid being boring, but Will knew better.
It was shedding the skin. It was finally taking off the layers of camouflage-even if they'd grown on one-and showing that time went on. People learned. If they were still human enough to feel the scratch of the passing years. Barbossa hadn't become blind, or stupid, but he had lost a vital connection; experience just didn't mean as much when the marks of it disappeared within a few minutes.
"Bo'sun'll still be around," Jack whispered. "You and Jacques find him, draw him off, and keep him busy while we work on Barbossa."
At first, Will didn't understand why he could open his mouth and yet not produce a single sound. He thought maybe he'd had a weird attack of the nerves, except those had never made him lose his voice. And then his eyes wandered over to James' face, darkly solemn, and Will got it. Like that Indiana Jones movie, where the hero had to walk over a deep gorge and just believe he wouldn't fall. Except Will wasn't some mighty adventurer, and furthermore, he didn't have a handful of powder to scatter over the invisible bridge and first prove it was there.
He did have a night sparring under the moon, and the remembrance of blood dripping down his cheek. If he reached up, he could still feel two tiny ridges along his cheekbone, where the almost-healed sword-cuts were.
Right. Faith. Will took a deep breath, and nodded. "What about the curse?"
"We'll be getting rid of that after I get back the Pearl." Jack clapped a hand to Will's shoulder, matched gazes, and then moved off into the mounds of treasure.
James didn't say anything, but only stared at Will for a second. Then he made a stiff gesture of acknowledgment with his head and shoulders, and followed Jack.
"Will?" Jacques quietly asked.
"My eyes are burning." As he rubbed them dry, Will glowered at the other man. "You reek, Jacques. How much incense did you burn? India's entire supply?"
"Oh, shut up. You know why I did that." The other man wrapped his hand around Will's arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. Jacques' head was weaving ever-so-slightly from side to side, and he bore an uncanny resemblance to a hunting hound. He quickly and silently led them between a truly amazing amount of glittering treasure, and eventually emerged onto a patch of rock that was devoid of gold.
And that was when everything started to happen.
Someone screamed from across the huge cavern, where Jack and James had been headed, and Will reflexively whipped about to see. His eyes didn't catch anything, but his ears heard plenty.
"Sparrow, you-" came rumbling off the walls, Barbossa's rage smoldering so hot the air rippled. Its echoes filled the cave, drowning out everything for several minutes. And when the vibrations finally ceased:
"Will!" from behind, Jacques sounding rushed and screaming and afraid.
A shadow dropped over Will's head, and he whirled back around, tearing his sword from its sheath just in time to have a huge blade crash against it. The force of the blow drove him to his knees, off-balance and jarred to hell, and he was rolling away as best he could.
The next slice would've taken off his head, if Jacques hadn't chopped Bo'sun in the neck. That only put the pirate back a step, though, and a second later, the hulk had caught Jacques' punch. Twisted it around and got a foot slamming into the back of his knees for his troubles, but that only made him smile.
Will was back on his feet before his head realized, but the sword-song was good enough to tell him where to cut. Bo'sun yelled and staggered away as his arm-stump sprayed blood all over the place, and Will had to dive back to the floor to avoid getting blinded. Jacques was already there, snarling as he pried fingers from his wrist to reveal a circle of heavy bruising. And not the pleasant kind, either; those splotches of black were pure malevolence. He started to throw the severed limb away, but a gigantic hand unexpectedly snatched the arm back.
Then silver slapped against Jacques' throat, halting the half-formed curse that had begun to spill from his lips. The incomplete spell melted the coins on the edges of the bare area, ringing them with molten metal.
"Turner." Bo'sun nodded, more out of smug satisfaction than any sense of politeness. Two arms again, Will absently noted as his stomach dropped down to hell.
"You shouldn't be healing that fast," Jacques gritted, eyes fixed on Will even though he was speaking to the man holding a broadsword to his neck arteries. Then he was quiet-but his lips were still moving, very faintly, and his gaze intensified twice over.
"Barbossa knows what he's doing." Then Bo'sun looked at Will, and he smiled as if greeting a close friend. Or an old enemy. "We did this before, didn't we? Except I recall him being a little more bloody."
Will slowly lowered his sword. "Don't."
"And we did this, too." Fierce white teeth bent in a crooked upcurve, like a devouring crescent hanging high in the bitter black sky. "You won't be fooling me again, Turner. Your father did once, you did once-got your damn pass, and now you're out of those. Drop it."
When Will started to do so, Jacques started forward in clear protest. Then the other man hissed, pained and surprised, and subsided as a trace of red slipped down to decorate Bo'sun's blade.
"That's good," the pirate murmured, almost kindly, as Will dragged his fingers away from the hilt of his sword. "Now, catch."
Something bright flew through the air, and Will reached out to catch it just as Jacques suddenly threw his weight backwards.
Black and red, steel and slivered flesh. Will's vision went blurry, then refocused to see Jacques and Bo'sun rolling over the ground, trading punches and kicks. A headbutt splattered Bo'sun's face with coal-colored blood-
coals glowing red in the forge fire, liquid metal a glowing stream coursing through the flames
--Jacques reeling from a succession of blows to his stomach, scarlet leaking from the corner of his mouth-
strange steam rising from the tempering, smith's burly arm twisting to display freshly-bandaged cuts
--that huge broadsword howling like a berserker where it'd fallen, far from the wrestling. Will's blade much closer, inches from Bo'sun's groping fingers-
blood birth, blood bath, blood rebirth
--one man falling aside, but Jacques lashed out with his leg as he went and it was just enough to tip Bo'sun into a pool of molten gold. Jacques yelled the closing couplet of the spell, and the pretty metal mercilessly ate into the other man's flesh, wildfire in a lumber warehouse. But not before Bo'sun's fingers closed around Will's sword.
The fragment of the Pearl clattered to the rock, and Will was skidding across the rock, pushing Jacques aside just in time for the blade to come down. His head thumped back, and then he saw James' horrified face staring from a high heap of coins.
***
It took a moment to realize that the cry hadn't shattered James' eardrums, and by then Barbossa was already recovering from his surprise. Springing down from an open chest of pearls and whipping out a…broken sword as he did. The only thing that saved James from having his head sliced in two was Jack's quick intervention.
Apparently, using only half a blade didn't handicap Barbossa in the slightest, because he parried first Jack's and then James' attacks with ease. His expression, however, was far from calm. Rather the opposite. "Sparrow, you-"
"She called for me." Jack's smile danced as nimble and sharp as his sword, flickering in and out as he tested one side of Barbossa's defenses. "She called. All these years…"
"Means nothing. You're still not the one holding her. That held onto her." Barbossa suddenly swung in a wide arc, and when James and Jack dodged low, the abrupt appearance of a dagger nearly caught their throats.
James just blocked the new weapon, and then he tried a feint-and-lunge. Had to swiftly twist about to avoid a backhanded cut that came around much faster than he'd expected. Barbossa's eye glinted, and he instinctively backed up. Jack instantly moved in, but Barbossa was prepared for that and fended him off.
"Commodore Norrington. I remember…you promised me you'd run me down for Port Royal. It's good to know men still keep their word." Drawling, mocking voice. An attempt to make James lose his head, he knew.
It was working. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the-
"Will!"
James glanced toward the shout, all anger suddenly freezing in his stomach, and the air compressed before him. His nerves yanked him out of the way of the thrown dagger, but not before pain lacerated his side. He clapped a hand to the cut across his ribs, found to his relief that it wasn't that deep, and then raised his eyes to discover Barbossa's knowing face. "You'll die," James grated. "By whatever way-but now, I promise you that."
"Isn't that grand?" Barbossa slashed at Jack to force the other man back, then whipped around and drove at James.
Blood splashed again over James' clothes, but this time it was the color of extremely tarnished copper, past green and into black. Barbossa's eyes widened as they both stared at the sword sticking through the man's chest.
"Go!" Jack ordered, and then the sword-tip disappeared as he twisted it free. That also had the effect of spinning Barbossa to face him, and so James obeyed.
As swords met again and again behind him, he scrambled up the nearest hill of coins and ran for the origin of the shout. No hesitation-he wasn't even thinking, simply reacting. And he was still in that state of mind when he crested the last pile and saw the sword swing down. "No!"
His heart fragmented.
***
Jacques was so horrified he didn't have enough air to make a single sound. And then-and then-the sword missed.
It grazed over Will's shoulder, cut the cloth, and then whipped backwards at an impossible angle. Bo'sun yowled and frothed like a rabid beast, doubling over the sword buried in his gut. The hissing strings of gold burning away at him started to take great chunks out of his torso as he writhed.
"Oh, good. It still works." Will's voice was ridiculously casual, but when Jacques glanced over, he saw that the other man's face was as white as bleached bone. Something rustled beside them; like a nightmare, Bo'sun lurched up for one last try.
But before Jacques could scramble over and put up a hasty defense, James appeared from nowhere and slashed off the man's head. Then he stumbled down to his knees beside Will, trembling fingers ghosting all over face, shoulders. "Christ…Christ…"
Swordsmith. That had been Will's sword Bo'sun had tried to use against him, and it had refused to turn on its maker. But such a risk…it made the words wither away in Jacques' mouth. He merely clamped onto Will's free side and breathed.
"It's no good, Jack! We'll be fighting here till Judgment Day!"
Shit. Barbossa. And Bo'sun was still technically a danger, though Jacques' incantation should keep the bastard down for a good long time. Careful to keep a safe distance, Jacques swiftly ripped Will's sword out of the corpse before the acid gold could get at it. He turned around to hand it back to the other man, only to find Will scrabbling with bloody hands for a long, thin piece of-oh, fuck. A piece of the Pearl. "Will, let me have that."
James slowly stood up and grabbed his sword. "Is that what I think it is?"
"This part's already covered in…" Will's eyes went fuzzy and distant, then sharpened. He ignored them both and darted into the middle of the cave, going towards Jack and Barbossa.
"Will, you-" Jacques caught a similar expression of exasperation and worry on James' face, and something clicked. Unwound and let down its guard, because that really was genuine feeling in the other man's eyes. More importantly, that was emotion that Jacques could believe in, because he had more than a passing acquaintance with it himself. "That moron."
"If he kills himself, I'll harrow hell so I can beat some sense into him," James replied, already running after Will.
And for once, Jacques was in complete agreement with Norrington. Perhaps they could get along, after all-after they got themselves out of this mess.
***
Jack pressed Barbossa as hard as he could, but without James to distract the other man, it was decidedly more difficult. They were about evenly matched in terms of skill, Jack possibly being a bit more limber and Barbossa having more brute strength, but neither one of them had any clear advantage when it came to swordplay.
Of course, besides that Hector also had undead healing and stamina. Whereas Jack was now bleeding from several places, and his breath was ragging apart with fatigue. All in all, the odds weren't terribly good. But he was used to that.
What he wasn't accustomed to, however, was the world suddenly whipping about like a snapped cable. His feet lost their steadiness-that hadn't happened in years-and he stumbled.
Hector immediately pounced on his momentary weakness, forcing Jack backwise into a slippery collection of jewelry. An overhand slash almost cut down his shoulder while he was recovering, and he desperately threw himself sword-front into the other man. Somehow got past the Pearl, her grieving voice dinning his ears, and for the third time during their fight, his blade cut through the other man.
Damn shame Barbossa just refused to stay down. Jack respected determination, but this was insane.
Apparently, Hector's train of thought was following similar routes, because he flashed a crooked, rot-yellow grin full of black irony. "It's no good, Jack! We'll be fighting here till Judgment Day!"
"I'd say otherwise. Can't help but admit you and me make terrible company for each other." With that, Jack swung aside as if to try another lunge at the other man's leg, but at the last minute he pulled back and shoved his sword into an opening.
"Stop trying, Jack," Hector sighed, like a careworn mother scolding her child. Then he jerked the sword from himself and, too fast to stop, shoved it through Jack.
Someone gasped-Jacques, standing behind and slightly left of Barbossa. Looking as if someone had just ripped out his guts and handed him a bill for it.
And Will, white-lipped but oddly serene, his hands coated in red blood, which dripped all over the familiar object he was holding. "Jack. I need the other piece."
"I don't hurt." In fact, Jack felt as if he'd just been plunged into a wrapping of cottonwool that dulled everything, smothered out all sensation and passively but ruthlessly threatened to suffocate him. He pulled out the sword with only the vaguest memory that it had hurt, and that the look on Barbossa's face should be making him quite gleeful with its shock. Except it didn't. "This is…interesting."
And horrifying, probably, but that was for afterwards, when he had time to sit down and consider matters.
"Barbossa." Now James was returning to the whole tangle, hard face set with diamond eyes. His sword didn't waver from its aim at Hector's heart. "Throw down your sword."
"Now, is that any way to treat such a lady? Jack?" Hector tossed a deceptively pleading look at Jack. A faint trickle of dark blood persisted at the corner of the man's mouth, proof that he wasn't regenerating quite as quickly.
"Shut up." Like a sun-bleached wolf, Jacques circled around them. Sparks gathered about his hands, and as he murmured long liquid strings of ancient words, the cavern began to ripple again. It was dividing against itself, one separating into two irreconcilable parts.
And so was Jack. He struggled to ground himself by holding onto the memories of revenge, and clenched his sword hilt so hard his bones began to grind…but even that was little more than a wisp of feeling. Something stronger was needed. And he did have that, while Hector didn't. "Our fight, if you recall?"
"So it is, Jack." Barbossa smiled, tinge of sour to that as always, and settled into a stance. "Even though you can do nothing but fail. That's all you've ever done."
"False step, there. You weren't content before you had the Pearl, and you weren't after. It wasn't the curse that made you hungry, Hector." Jack gave his own smile, the one he'd been saving for so many years, and the other man flinched just that little bit.
Thing was, Jack didn't need the Pearl to be satisfied. He did need her to have that fraction that would make him complete, but he didn't need her like Barbossa did. He didn't need her to be the sole justification for his existence, and they both knew it.
***
Jack thought he'd won, that much was obvious. And maybe to outsiders, he had. But Hector had learned more than one way of dying, and he wasn't going to go without leaving at least one more mark of his own on Jack. So evidence of himself would linger as long as the other man managed to survive. That was true revenge. That was a real victory: beating time. Living past death, in some way.
He lifted the Pearl as if to charge, then abruptly twisted and threw it straight at the Turner brat. Will was too far removed from its maker for the bloodline to protect him, and at this range, Hector couldn't miss.
***
José was returning gunfire when the wave crashed through him. He grabbed for his temples, dropping his pistols, and tried not to crush his skull.
"Damn it, up!" Anamaria kicked him, since her hands were full with two attackers. "Get sick later, when you're home!"
Home. God, he hoped that still existed for him.
***
Once in a great while, sword and muscle became one. It was almost a state of grace, and while James was in it, he observed and reacted but didn't actually register events.
That was fortunate, because if he had realized what was going on, he would've been too late. As things played out, he nearly was. A couple inches to the left, and Will's lifeblood would have been gushing from his throat.
Deflected by James' wild swing, the Pearl went through the other man's shoulder and clattered to the ground. Jacques shouted something unintelligible and stabbed Barbossa with Will's sword-and red blood came out.
But the man didn't fall. "Not quite," he smiled, and wrenched the blade from Jacques. He quickly flipped it about and brought the sword down in a body-cleaving blow.
Metal rang, and Jack forced the other man's blade sideways so it instead cut through Jacques' side and leg. The blond tumbled back, and Sparrow stepped in to parry Barbossa's next attack.
This had to end. Not for revenge, and not for any kind of anger, but for the simple fact that if it didn't, life couldn't move beyond it. This fight was a stumbling block in everyone's life, and unless it was removed, they would continue to fall backwards into the same destructive patterns.
James watched for his chance, and when it came-an opening barely two inches wide-he took it without hesitation. Dodged the backswing of Barbossa's strike at Jack, and then stepped in to put his blade through Barbossa's sword arm. That stopped the man long enough for Jack to pinion Barbossa through the heart with his sword.
"Haven't we done-no…no…" The mockery on Barbossa's face suddenly transformed into fear-and something very close to relief. "It's…cold."
Rich scarlet bubbled out of his lips, around the metal embedded in his chest. With a last, sudden effort, he twisted about to face Will, who was kneeling on the floor with the second shard of the Pearl clasped to his wounded shoulder. Barbossa's mouth bent into one final smile, and then he collapsed.
"Is he dead?" Will rasped, swaying in place.
James quickly leaned down to check. "There's no pulse-God, Will!"
He was over the rock and catching the fainting man an instant before Will would have hit the ground. The other man's breathing was too shallow, and his skin was so pale and fragile it was like tissue paper. James quickly tossed the pieces of the Pearl over to Jack, then tore off his shirt and bundled it against Will's shoulder to slow the bleeding. "Hospital. We have to-"
"I know, I know," Jack snapped. The other man was busy doing the same to Jacques' leg. Then he wrapped up the Pearl's halves in his sash.
"Hurry up. The sea…" Jacques struggled to stand and made some gesture with bloody fingers. The water rose in a huge wave, then soundlessly smoothed out. "Five minutes," he whispered, eyes rolling back into his head.
"Damn it." Jack caught Jacques as the man collapsed and hurriedly carried him to the rowboat, where James was already settling Will. Then he left for a moment, and returned with three red-caked swords, two of which he handed to James. "Can't forget these."
James made a cursory examination of his and Will's blades. "They weren't-"
"I made sure of Barbossa." Tight-lipped, Jack didn't say anymore as he pushed them out. Then he hopped in, and shoved the oars at James. "Here. I'm calling Anamaria and José."
The water was beginning to roil, but James got them out of the cave Isle de Muerte could do anything more to them. He mechanically pulled, not even feeling the ache taking over his body, and tried not to notice how Will's cheek was growing ever colder against his thigh.
***
José listened only as long as necessary, and then he snapped his phone shut. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"
"What's the matter?" Gibbs came up and hesitantly stopped three feet from José, while everyone else suddenly grew very quiet, whether they were free and celebrating or prisoners and mourning.
Distracted, José forgot to be circumspect. "You want to know? Jacques and Will are bleeding to death, and I have to stay here and keep the motherfucking island from eating you while you collect your damn gold. That's what's wrong."
"Then stop whining and go. We're good." When they looked at her, Anamaria glared back. "What? Maybe I'm not all big and muscle-bound enough for offense, but I can damn well take care of my own defense."
"You're serious?" José incredulously asked, his feet already turning toward the boats.
She made a little shooing motion with her hands, and snorted. "Yeah, I am. Go. Get the fuck out and meet them before I shoot off your balls."
He didn't have to be told twice.
***