Captain Jack Sparrow reflects on the one party he didn't dare crash - the wedding of Elizabeth and Will. One shot.
There was a tap on the door and he looked up, trinket-heavy braids swinging with the motion. Gibbs, viewed by the others with the tacit agreement to be the best one to "handle" the captain, stood there, fidgeting. "Yes? What is it?"
"Well, Cap'n, that is..." Gibbs tugged at the scarf around his neck awkwardly. "They're married."
There was a pause and then, grin crooked, Jack pushed himself backwards to balance on two legs of his chair. "So they are," he replied lightly. "Turner doesn't have the imagination to do otherwise and Lizzie's got him licked." His eyebrow raised and he chuckled. "If the lad's lucky, that is."
Relieved at his reaction, Gibbs nodded and beamed. "Right, right. Just thought you'd want to know, like, cap'n."
Jack's chair came down with a loud thump and Gibbs started. The pirate captain was beaming manically, though, arms spread wide. "Of course, my dear Gibbs! This calls for a celebration. Man the cannon, ducks. We'll do a proper salute for the newlyweds. One, no, two, no, -three- shots, Mr. Gibbs. I like the number."
"Aye, aye, cap'n!" Grin growing to impossible size, Gibbs turned on his heel and strode out. He was relieved. Now he could go back to the others and say that Jack Sparrow was just fine with it all. No worries to be had. They could continue on.
Even as the door closed behind the burly pirate, though, Jack's face fell and he looked down blankly at the maps again. Will and Elizabeth were married. So soon? Of course so soon. Will Turner was an impatient little sod, jumped headfirst into everything and thought about it later. Lizzie had more sense but she was just as soppy over the lad as he was over her.
Jack folded his hands in front of him and stared down at the gaudy ring on his forefinger. The skull grinned back obscenely. Grimacing, he shifted his hands to hide it. For the first time in his life, he felt as if he had been just the slightest bit late for something. Tardy. Captain Jack Sparrow was never tardy or ill-timed. When he arrived, he always did so at the exactly proper moment. He was like a magician in that way. But here he had missed Will Turner's wedding to the fair Miss Swann.
There had been no invitation but he had never needed one before. He supposed he could have slipped into Port Royal, hovered in the background, saw them pledge themselves to each other...
And promptly overstepped Commodore Norrington's leave of grace and found himself dancing the jig at the end of the hangman's rope.
Which, somehow, did not seem to be a fitting way to pay his respects to the blissful newlyweds. Yet he still toyed with the scenario in his head for a moment - how he would doff the hat, don the garb, slip in and lurk in the shadows. Just to see them. Deep in the pit of his self-declared black weasly guts, he felt an ill-defined ache. He had always known he had a soft spot for the sea and the winds and his precious ship, making him damn near poetic over it all. To feel anything like that over missing a wedding? Unheard of.
Jack shook his head and slouched back in his chair, staring upwards and counting the holes in the rafters, left by time and woodworm and the odd dagger tossed up in a fit of boredom. He supposed it wasn't the wedding so much as the parties involved. William Turner and Elizabeth Swann. They amused the hell out of him and, frankly, he had grown fond of them. It could be argued that it was easy to become fond of people who saved your life. To that, it was even easier to retort that it was harder to become fond of people who -risked- your life but there was no denying that he had.
Pretty young things. Carefully, he balanced on the back two chair legs again. Unmarked and untested and crazier than he was about some things. Not that that was a bad thing. No, it was terribly attractive. He closed his eyes. Lizzie with her golden-shot tumble of honey-brown curls and firm little chin and more fire than he'd ever seen in a landlocked "lady of quality". Will with his impossible mess of chestnut waves and puzzled grin and more eagerness than any human being should ever rightly possess. Lovely creatures, mad as hatters.
He wondered what they were doing now, where they had gone off to and what they would be doing later. A slight leer twisted his lips. Oh, ho, no. He knew quite well what they were doing. After all, Will was most certainly -not- an eunuch. He hoped they were doing it -properly-.
Absently, Jack rested a hand on his chest, hardly registering the warmth of his own skin or the heartbeat beneath his palm. Will and Lizzie, newly married. He rather hoped that the good Governor had sent them off somewhere for a bit of peace and quiet that they could shatter properly and without recriminations. He sighed. Land society was so much more inane than ship-life, than pirate-life. Want, take, have. Presumably, Will had enough pirate in him to be doing just that with his pretty new bride. He smirked. If he was any judge, Will had more than a bit of pirate and Lizzie was in for a very nice tumble.
Once Will figured out to get her out of her kit, that is. Perhaps he should have suggested knives. It was safe to assume that Lizzie herself was up to the task. A man would have to be blind to not appreciate her and she would have to be half-dead to not appreciate Will. Such a pretty pair.
Jack started and looked down at himself, laughing darkly as he registered the oblivious migration of his hand. It rested low and warm and heavy, half on his stomach, half in his lap. Well, now. Hello, there, laddie. Shaking his head, he pulled it away and set his chair down on all fours once more. As he stood, though, he paused and the famous Jack Sparrow smile burst into life over his tanned face. Without hesitation, he strode to his door, flung it open, and bellowed out, "And, after the cannon fire, ya scurvy dogs, I'll be wantin' to know where newlyweds go when they want a bit of a tumble. Up an' at 'em, you lot! Harness the wind an' ride it well out."
He grinned recklessly at the answering calls, obedient and prompt. Captain Jack Sparrow -would- pay his respects or Old Scratch would know the reason why.