Categories > Movies > Pirates of the Caribbean > Legarou
Part Six--The Last Chapter
1 reviewAfter finding a secluded weapons cache, Captain Jack Sparrow and the crew of The Black Pearl release something terrible into the Caribbean.
2Exciting
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns pretty much the whole world. I don't own any of the world because I'm just a college student. An ART college student at that. So I couldn't possibly own PotC, right? Right?
PART 6
"While there's life, there's hope." /-/Terence
Bootstrap had never been more annoyed with the military in his entire lifetime than he was at the present.
Commodore Norrington, in his haste to make any vagabond pay for the loss of three lives (on his watch, no less) was currently dragging Bill back to the stockade.
"You don't understand!" Bill protested, struggling to shake Lieutenant Gillette's grip upon his arms.
"I think I understand perfectly well, sir," Norrington answered.
Bootstrap practically shouted a blistering oath that brought a tinge of embarrassed red to both naval officers' faces. In the stunned pause they gave, Bootstrap slipped out of Gillette's grasp and began a full on sprint back to the path that Andre and Jack had made. Norrington gave pursuit.
*
It was like a haze had created a film over Jack's mind's eye. He could see snatches of what was going on, but it was like watching it all through a porthole. A very small porthole.
Where his visual perception had dwindled, his tactile senses had increased. His chest felt as though the blade was still cutting into him. He could literally feel the two women and the man on the other side of the door, even standing a meter away. It was a liberating sensation and an imprisoning one all at the same time. He couldn't control a thing that he was doing.
Andre raised the cutlass and rained heavy chopping blows upon the weakening wooden door. Jack heard Elizabeth and Anamaria scream. The metal of the blade dug almost completely through the plank before Andre yanked it back out to hit it again.
The mettalic thudding noise echoed painfully in Jack's skull. /Thud, shick.// /
"/De profundis clamo ad te domine."/
/ Thud, shick./
"It's not a bad look, really."
/ Thud, shick. /
"Fear yourself, Leftenant Sparrow?"
/ Thud, shick./
"Don't fear us. Fear them."
/ /A flash. The image of Will, Lizzie, Anamaria, Bootstrap, and Gibbs swam before his hazy eyes. This time, they didn't hold weapons. They were crying. Crying for him? Why?
/Thud, shick./
/ /Terror bled under the crack in the door and washed over Jack. He didn't like this. He didn't like what was going on. He didn't want to be afraid of himself anymore. A growl rumbled through his chest, and Andre paused in his attack on the door. His pointed muzzle turned to look back at Jack, and the pirate attacked.
They hit the door with enough force to break it inward, and the pair of brawling loup garou landed on top of it. Teeth were snapping everywhere-saliva and fur flew.
Across the room, cowering by the window, Elizabeth and Anamaria watched in shock. Gibbs was still unconscious on the bed and in no condition to save the two women. However, neither Anamaria nor Elizabeth were the type of women to just sit back and watch something happen while they helplessly screamed to their deaths.
The only weapon handy was the saber that Mister Gibbs had been so enamored with.
Having spent the most time wielding the sword in battle, Anamaria snatched the weapon from its innocuous position against the dresser and she held it in front of her in a ready position.
On the floor, Andre cuffed Jack roughly with the back of his paw-hard enough to knock the pirate flat. Jack landed across the room, unconscious.
The remaining creature growled when it caught sight of the weapon Anamaria was holding. It raised the cutlass that was gripped in one massive paw and brought it down in a whistling strike.
*
Bootstrap had never run any faster in his life than he did now. He felt as though his heart would burst through his chest from the strain of it, but he refused to slow down. A friend was in danger, and if he didn't get there in time...
A house loomed before him. He'd been clipping across the island so fast that he almost tripped up the stairs to the porch. Bootstrap could hear the telltale sounds of fighting upstairs-metal grating against metal-and readied himself for one last sprint.
He tripped. The toe of his boot caught on the side of an unconscious young man and Bootstrap flipped him over with the intention of waking him. He couldn't very well hold off two demonic wolf-things by himself.
Bootstrap suddenly had the impression that he was looking into a mirror. The young man he'd accidentally kicked in the ribs was so close to his own likeness that he felt dizzy. A pair of brown eyes-not very different from the two in his own head-cracked open, and Bootstrap's apparent doppelganger gasped.
"What's you're name?" Bootstrap asked.
"Will Turner..."
Bootstrap helped him sit up and tried to ignore the gut-punch sensation that he felt after hearing his son's name. Hell, it was his son. No one could possibly look that much like him without being blood related.
"You got any weapons, Will?"
His boy pointed to the wall behind him-it was lined with several swords and hatchets. Bootstrap retrieved a hatchet and a sword.
Will stood and gingerly touched the wound on his face. Bootstrap didn't want to waste any more time than he already did, and handed his son the sword.
"Do not act unless I tell you to do so," he instructed.
Will nodded carefully, and together they ran upstairs.
Twenty yards behind them, Commodore Norrington sprinted into the Turner yard.
*
Unfortunately for Anamaria, she was fighting against a beast twice her size with a blade that seemed to refuse to cut its hide. Elizabeth was fumbling around behind her, trying to find something that could be used as a weapon. All she could find, however, was another of Will's heavy brass candlesticks.
The cutlass that the lead beast was fighting with sang its metallic tune and sliced through the air in an arc that would ultimately rend Anamaria's head from her shoulders. Quick reflexes prevented her demise, however, and she brought the saber up to block.
As soon as the cutlass' stroke was finished, the saber snapped in half. The blade bounced off the hardwood floor, and Anamaria could have sworn that her entire life flashed before her eyes.
The creature howled in anger. His key way broken! And this woman was to blame. If she had just sat back and accepted her demise...
In the bed, oblivious to everything, Gibbs woke in a cold sweat.
Elizabeth muscled her way in front of Anamaria and she brandished the candlestick.
*
Through the broken remains of the door, Bootstrap saw the young lady's foolish attempt to hold off a creature twice her own size with naught but a candlestick. Without thinking, he reared back his throwing arm and hurled the silver hatchet at the creature's back.
It landed with a wet crack, and the beast howled.
Andre fell at Elizabeth's feet, stone dead.
Will barely took notice of the beast's death-instead he focused on the second, if woozy, creature and moved to strike, mindless of the fact that he'd been told not to do anything unless otherwise instructed.
Then Anamaria saw the scars.
"Wait!" she shouted.
Will paused mid-swing and nearly stumbled.
"It's Jack!"
Elizabeth frowned and looked at the creature. There they were-the beads and coins in his hair, the bullet scars, the pirate's brand in his forearm, and the strange scars on his left arm. "It is!" she acknowledged.
Will was confused.
Bootstrap, on the other hand, dug the decorative hatchet from Andre's back and stood in front of Jack. "You're in there somewhere, friend," he said.
Jack growled and placed a clawed hand over the wound Will had previously inflicted upon him.
Behind everyone, Norrington had made his way up the stairs at last. He fired his pistol without giving the action another thought, and Jack hit the wall again.
A pitiful whine pierced the room. Jack touched the gunshot wound with one claw and whimpered in pain. Bootstrap dropped the hatchet in favor of crossing the room in three quick strides, and Anamaria tore the sheet off the bed for him to use as a bandage. Gibbs protested.
"Wait just a moment, what in blue blazes is goin' on?"
Norrington, having spent his ammunition, brandished his sword and wondered the same thing.
"Sun up is soon, right lass?" Bootstrap asked Anamaria.
She nodded.
Elizabeth joined her husband and dabbed at his wounded face with the edge of her sleeve.
"What is this?" Norrington questioned.
Bootstrap tore the sheet and wrapped one of the strips around Jack's wounds. With the remaining cloth, he tucked it around his hips and legs-trapping him. "Someone grab his muzzle and hold on tight," he instructed.
Anamaria was by his side again, gently clamping Jack's snout shut with both hands. Bootstrap pulled tight on the ends of the bandage he made, and like a cornered animal (which, at the moment, he was) Jack squirmed to find a way out of his current situation. Trapped as he was, he had to endure the pain.
"Pressure should stop the bleeding," Bootstrap said.
Norrington drew attention to himself. "I demand an answer. What is this?"
"An ancient curse, commodore," Bootstrap answered. "There are old tales of how to cure it; I just have to remember..."
Norrington lowered his weapon and stood by the splintered door.
Anamaria carefully smoothed the wrinkles between Jack's eyes with her fingers. He calmed somewhat. Bootstrap looked down at the hatchet halfway across the room and suddenly had an idea.
"William, hand me the hatchet," he ordered.
The young man did as per request, and Bootstrap swallowed the uneasiness that was lodged in his throat. "Jack, you're going to have to trust an old friend not to muck this up." He cleaned the blade of the hatchet on the sheet that was covering Jack's legs.
The sun was rising outside.
There was a moment of uncertainty that was lost when Bootstrap placed the flat of the silver hatchet's blade against the bite wound on Jack's forehead. The skin hissed in protest, and Jack tried to get away from the sensation once again-but Anamaria had his jaw clamped between her strong hands.
She let go once she felt the bones shift beneath her fingers.
The sun climbed higher in the azure firmament, and Jack's wolf-like body reverted into its more natural, tanned form (however marred by scars and new wounds).
Out of all the people crowded in the small room, Norrington was the most astounded.
"God in Heaven..." he muttered.
Just as the sun cleared the horizon, Jack had completed his return to humanity and passed out.
*
Gibbs' wound had healed the moment that Andre met his doom by Bootstrap's well-aimed hatchet, and he moved downstairs to attend to Moises and Duncan-both of whom were still out cold in the foyer. Norrington, with his enormous sense of justice, felt it prudent to remain in the Turner household to see that Elizabeth and her husband were safe (more Elizabeth than Will, of course).
At the moment, Bootstrap and Will were tending Jack. Will had the decency to clothe the injured man, and Bootstrap began work on removing the buckshot from Jack's shoulder.
Anamaria stood off to the side.
"You'll be needing to stitch up that blade wound," she instructed. Bootstrap merely handed her a needle and thread.
"You do it, lass."
She made an unattractive face at the back of his head, but moved to the opposite side of the bed nonetheless. The wound was clean, and she set to work.
Across the room, Elizabeth (with Estrella's help) was cleaning the wound on Will's face.
"Honestly..." she grumbled.
"It's just a scratch, Elizabeth," Will shrugged it off. "It's nothing."
"As long as he didn't bite you," Bootstrap intoned from his position beside Jack.
Will shook his head negatively. "No, he didn't bite me. Just...scratched. Incidentally, who are you?" he asked.
"Bootstrap Bill," his father responded.
"Bootstrap Bill /Turner/?" Will repeated. "You can't be. You're supposed to be dead. On the bottom of the ocean. Tied to a cannon," he stilted.
Bill yanked the buckshot out of Jack's shoulder and looked insulted. "Last I checked my name was Bill Turner. And I was tied to a cannon, but I wasn't about to sit underwater for all eternity."
Will did a convincing impression of a fish.
"I spent...almost my entire life thinking you were dead," he finally said.
Bootstrap shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint, lad."
Will shook his head again. "I'm not disappointed. I'm just... I'm surprised. And glad. I finally get a chance to know who you are."
"And I have the same opportunity with you, lad," Bootstrap responded.
On the bed, Jack groaned. "Will the two of you kindly lower your voices? My head is killing me."
Anamaria shooed everyone out and returned to aiding her captain.
"You had me worried for a while, Captain," she muttered. She finished stitching up his first wound and reapplied a bandage to his shoulder.
"I worried you?" he asked.
"Aye."
Jack shifted against the mattress and blinked up at her. "How's that, love?"
Anamaria blinked right back at him. "First, you come back a day after we leave the island with a wound, then you scream in your sleep, then you act all feverish and hand yerself over to the commodore, then I come back here to save ye, and you're a bloody loup garou!"
"Save me? I thought we were here to save Mister Gibbs..."
"Hell can have Mister Gibbs! I was more worried about you!" Anamaria yelled.
Jack blinked again.
They stared at one another for several moments before Anamaria sighed in defeat and plopped herself down into a bedside chair. After another long stretch of silence, she was sure that Jack had fallen asleep and got up to go downstairs and bargain for his release with Commodore Norrington. His voice made her pause.
"It's a nice dress," he said.
She looked back. His eyes were closed and he was smiling like nothing strange or unusual had happened at all.
"Ye tryin' to compliment me, or the dressmaker?"
His smile broke into a grin that showed off the gold caps over his teeth. His normal, Captain-Jack-Sparrow, teeth.
"Would ye believe both?" he asked.
Anamaria allowed him one of her own impish grins and she left the room to do what she'd intended to.
*
In the dining room, Norrington was enjoying a nice cup of tea that had some brandy seasoning in it. Anamaria found that her case had already been plead by Elizabeth and Will, and the good commodore was agreeing to their terms. He'd leave the pirates be as long as they were in Port Royal for this stretch, but afterwards they were fair game.
After seeing the things he had that occurred around these particular pirates, Norrington was beginning to wonder if it would be wise to continue his pursuit of the great Jack Sparrow (Captain-if-you-please).
He didn't think his sanity could stand it.
Plus, the man did save Elizabeth. Twice, as it were.
Turner had a father, a wife, and soon a son or daughter-just because his father happened to once be a pirate did not mean that he was obligated to arrest the man. So he wouldn't.
Norrington finished his tea and stood to leave. There were other pirates, after all.
And so, he bade Will and Elizabeth a fond farewell, and left for the Dauntless to begin a new patrol.
Looking out at the shoreline as the sun highlighted and reflected off the surface of the water, Will Turner decided that it was indeed a lovely day.
THE END
Review, please! And no, I won't write a sequel. It took me long enough to write this. Like, almost two years.
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns pretty much the whole world DISCLAIMER: Disney owns pretty much the whole world. I don't own any of the world because I'm just a college student. An ART college student at that. So I couldn't possibly own PotC, right? Right?
PART 6
"While there's life, there's hope." /-/Terence
Bootstrap had never been more annoyed with the military in his entire lifetime than he was at the present.
Commodore Norrington, in his haste to make any vagabond pay for the loss of three lives (on his watch, no less) was currently dragging Bill back to the stockade.
"You don't understand!" Bill protested, struggling to shake Lieutenant Gillette's grip upon his arms.
"I think I understand perfectly well, sir," Norrington answered.
Bootstrap practically shouted a blistering oath that brought a tinge of embarrassed red to both naval officers' faces. In the stunned pause they gave, Bootstrap slipped out of Gillette's grasp and began a full on sprint back to the path that Andre and Jack had made. Norrington gave pursuit.
*
It was like a haze had created a film over Jack's mind's eye. He could see snatches of what was going on, but it was like watching it all through a porthole. A very small porthole.
Where his visual perception had dwindled, his tactile senses had increased. His chest felt as though the blade was still cutting into him. He could literally feel the two women and the man on the other side of the door, even standing a meter away. It was a liberating sensation and an imprisoning one all at the same time. He couldn't control a thing that he was doing.
Andre raised the cutlass and rained heavy chopping blows upon the weakening wooden door. Jack heard Elizabeth and Anamaria scream. The metal of the blade dug almost completely through the plank before Andre yanked it back out to hit it again.
The mettalic thudding noise echoed painfully in Jack's skull. /Thud, shick.// /
"/De profundis clamo ad te domine."/
/ Thud, shick./
"It's not a bad look, really."
/ Thud, shick. /
"Fear yourself, Leftenant Sparrow?"
/ Thud, shick./
"Don't fear us. Fear them."
/ /A flash. The image of Will, Lizzie, Anamaria, Bootstrap, and Gibbs swam before his hazy eyes. This time, they didn't hold weapons. They were crying. Crying for him? Why?
/Thud, shick./
/ /Terror bled under the crack in the door and washed over Jack. He didn't like this. He didn't like what was going on. He didn't want to be afraid of himself anymore. A growl rumbled through his chest, and Andre paused in his attack on the door. His pointed muzzle turned to look back at Jack, and the pirate attacked.
They hit the door with enough force to break it inward, and the pair of brawling loup garou landed on top of it. Teeth were snapping everywhere-saliva and fur flew.
Across the room, cowering by the window, Elizabeth and Anamaria watched in shock. Gibbs was still unconscious on the bed and in no condition to save the two women. However, neither Anamaria nor Elizabeth were the type of women to just sit back and watch something happen while they helplessly screamed to their deaths.
The only weapon handy was the saber that Mister Gibbs had been so enamored with.
Having spent the most time wielding the sword in battle, Anamaria snatched the weapon from its innocuous position against the dresser and she held it in front of her in a ready position.
On the floor, Andre cuffed Jack roughly with the back of his paw-hard enough to knock the pirate flat. Jack landed across the room, unconscious.
The remaining creature growled when it caught sight of the weapon Anamaria was holding. It raised the cutlass that was gripped in one massive paw and brought it down in a whistling strike.
*
Bootstrap had never run any faster in his life than he did now. He felt as though his heart would burst through his chest from the strain of it, but he refused to slow down. A friend was in danger, and if he didn't get there in time...
A house loomed before him. He'd been clipping across the island so fast that he almost tripped up the stairs to the porch. Bootstrap could hear the telltale sounds of fighting upstairs-metal grating against metal-and readied himself for one last sprint.
He tripped. The toe of his boot caught on the side of an unconscious young man and Bootstrap flipped him over with the intention of waking him. He couldn't very well hold off two demonic wolf-things by himself.
Bootstrap suddenly had the impression that he was looking into a mirror. The young man he'd accidentally kicked in the ribs was so close to his own likeness that he felt dizzy. A pair of brown eyes-not very different from the two in his own head-cracked open, and Bootstrap's apparent doppelganger gasped.
"What's you're name?" Bootstrap asked.
"Will Turner..."
Bootstrap helped him sit up and tried to ignore the gut-punch sensation that he felt after hearing his son's name. Hell, it was his son. No one could possibly look that much like him without being blood related.
"You got any weapons, Will?"
His boy pointed to the wall behind him-it was lined with several swords and hatchets. Bootstrap retrieved a hatchet and a sword.
Will stood and gingerly touched the wound on his face. Bootstrap didn't want to waste any more time than he already did, and handed his son the sword.
"Do not act unless I tell you to do so," he instructed.
Will nodded carefully, and together they ran upstairs.
Twenty yards behind them, Commodore Norrington sprinted into the Turner yard.
*
Unfortunately for Anamaria, she was fighting against a beast twice her size with a blade that seemed to refuse to cut its hide. Elizabeth was fumbling around behind her, trying to find something that could be used as a weapon. All she could find, however, was another of Will's heavy brass candlesticks.
The cutlass that the lead beast was fighting with sang its metallic tune and sliced through the air in an arc that would ultimately rend Anamaria's head from her shoulders. Quick reflexes prevented her demise, however, and she brought the saber up to block.
As soon as the cutlass' stroke was finished, the saber snapped in half. The blade bounced off the hardwood floor, and Anamaria could have sworn that her entire life flashed before her eyes.
The creature howled in anger. His key way broken! And this woman was to blame. If she had just sat back and accepted her demise...
In the bed, oblivious to everything, Gibbs woke in a cold sweat.
Elizabeth muscled her way in front of Anamaria and she brandished the candlestick.
*
Through the broken remains of the door, Bootstrap saw the young lady's foolish attempt to hold off a creature twice her own size with naught but a candlestick. Without thinking, he reared back his throwing arm and hurled the silver hatchet at the creature's back.
It landed with a wet crack, and the beast howled.
Andre fell at Elizabeth's feet, stone dead.
Will barely took notice of the beast's death-instead he focused on the second, if woozy, creature and moved to strike, mindless of the fact that he'd been told not to do anything unless otherwise instructed.
Then Anamaria saw the scars.
"Wait!" she shouted.
Will paused mid-swing and nearly stumbled.
"It's Jack!"
Elizabeth frowned and looked at the creature. There they were-the beads and coins in his hair, the bullet scars, the pirate's brand in his forearm, and the strange scars on his left arm. "It is!" she acknowledged.
Will was confused.
Bootstrap, on the other hand, dug the decorative hatchet from Andre's back and stood in front of Jack. "You're in there somewhere, friend," he said.
Jack growled and placed a clawed hand over the wound Will had previously inflicted upon him.
Behind everyone, Norrington had made his way up the stairs at last. He fired his pistol without giving the action another thought, and Jack hit the wall again.
A pitiful whine pierced the room. Jack touched the gunshot wound with one claw and whimpered in pain. Bootstrap dropped the hatchet in favor of crossing the room in three quick strides, and Anamaria tore the sheet off the bed for him to use as a bandage. Gibbs protested.
"Wait just a moment, what in blue blazes is goin' on?"
Norrington, having spent his ammunition, brandished his sword and wondered the same thing.
"Sun up is soon, right lass?" Bootstrap asked Anamaria.
She nodded.
Elizabeth joined her husband and dabbed at his wounded face with the edge of her sleeve.
"What is this?" Norrington questioned.
Bootstrap tore the sheet and wrapped one of the strips around Jack's wounds. With the remaining cloth, he tucked it around his hips and legs-trapping him. "Someone grab his muzzle and hold on tight," he instructed.
Anamaria was by his side again, gently clamping Jack's snout shut with both hands. Bootstrap pulled tight on the ends of the bandage he made, and like a cornered animal (which, at the moment, he was) Jack squirmed to find a way out of his current situation. Trapped as he was, he had to endure the pain.
"Pressure should stop the bleeding," Bootstrap said.
Norrington drew attention to himself. "I demand an answer. What is this?"
"An ancient curse, commodore," Bootstrap answered. "There are old tales of how to cure it; I just have to remember..."
Norrington lowered his weapon and stood by the splintered door.
Anamaria carefully smoothed the wrinkles between Jack's eyes with her fingers. He calmed somewhat. Bootstrap looked down at the hatchet halfway across the room and suddenly had an idea.
"William, hand me the hatchet," he ordered.
The young man did as per request, and Bootstrap swallowed the uneasiness that was lodged in his throat. "Jack, you're going to have to trust an old friend not to muck this up." He cleaned the blade of the hatchet on the sheet that was covering Jack's legs.
The sun was rising outside.
There was a moment of uncertainty that was lost when Bootstrap placed the flat of the silver hatchet's blade against the bite wound on Jack's forehead. The skin hissed in protest, and Jack tried to get away from the sensation once again-but Anamaria had his jaw clamped between her strong hands.
She let go once she felt the bones shift beneath her fingers.
The sun climbed higher in the azure firmament, and Jack's wolf-like body reverted into its more natural, tanned form (however marred by scars and new wounds).
Out of all the people crowded in the small room, Norrington was the most astounded.
"God in Heaven..." he muttered.
Just as the sun cleared the horizon, Jack had completed his return to humanity and passed out.
*
Gibbs' wound had healed the moment that Andre met his doom by Bootstrap's well-aimed hatchet, and he moved downstairs to attend to Moises and Duncan-both of whom were still out cold in the foyer. Norrington, with his enormous sense of justice, felt it prudent to remain in the Turner household to see that Elizabeth and her husband were safe (more Elizabeth than Will, of course).
At the moment, Bootstrap and Will were tending Jack. Will had the decency to clothe the injured man, and Bootstrap began work on removing the buckshot from Jack's shoulder.
Anamaria stood off to the side.
"You'll be needing to stitch up that blade wound," she instructed. Bootstrap merely handed her a needle and thread.
"You do it, lass."
She made an unattractive face at the back of his head, but moved to the opposite side of the bed nonetheless. The wound was clean, and she set to work.
Across the room, Elizabeth (with Estrella's help) was cleaning the wound on Will's face.
"Honestly..." she grumbled.
"It's just a scratch, Elizabeth," Will shrugged it off. "It's nothing."
"As long as he didn't bite you," Bootstrap intoned from his position beside Jack.
Will shook his head negatively. "No, he didn't bite me. Just...scratched. Incidentally, who are you?" he asked.
"Bootstrap Bill," his father responded.
"Bootstrap Bill /Turner/?" Will repeated. "You can't be. You're supposed to be dead. On the bottom of the ocean. Tied to a cannon," he stilted.
Bill yanked the buckshot out of Jack's shoulder and looked insulted. "Last I checked my name was Bill Turner. And I was tied to a cannon, but I wasn't about to sit underwater for all eternity."
Will did a convincing impression of a fish.
"I spent...almost my entire life thinking you were dead," he finally said.
Bootstrap shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint, lad."
Will shook his head again. "I'm not disappointed. I'm just... I'm surprised. And glad. I finally get a chance to know who you are."
"And I have the same opportunity with you, lad," Bootstrap responded.
On the bed, Jack groaned. "Will the two of you kindly lower your voices? My head is killing me."
Anamaria shooed everyone out and returned to aiding her captain.
"You had me worried for a while, Captain," she muttered. She finished stitching up his first wound and reapplied a bandage to his shoulder.
"I worried you?" he asked.
"Aye."
Jack shifted against the mattress and blinked up at her. "How's that, love?"
Anamaria blinked right back at him. "First, you come back a day after we leave the island with a wound, then you scream in your sleep, then you act all feverish and hand yerself over to the commodore, then I come back here to save ye, and you're a bloody loup garou!"
"Save me? I thought we were here to save Mister Gibbs..."
"Hell can have Mister Gibbs! I was more worried about you!" Anamaria yelled.
Jack blinked again.
They stared at one another for several moments before Anamaria sighed in defeat and plopped herself down into a bedside chair. After another long stretch of silence, she was sure that Jack had fallen asleep and got up to go downstairs and bargain for his release with Commodore Norrington. His voice made her pause.
"It's a nice dress," he said.
She looked back. His eyes were closed and he was smiling like nothing strange or unusual had happened at all.
"Ye tryin' to compliment me, or the dressmaker?"
His smile broke into a grin that showed off the gold caps over his teeth. His normal, Captain-Jack-Sparrow, teeth.
"Would ye believe both?" he asked.
Anamaria allowed him one of her own impish grins and she left the room to do what she'd intended to.
*
In the dining room, Norrington was enjoying a nice cup of tea that had some brandy seasoning in it. Anamaria found that her case had already been plead by Elizabeth and Will, and the good commodore was agreeing to their terms. He'd leave the pirates be as long as they were in Port Royal for this stretch, but afterwards they were fair game.
After seeing the things he had that occurred around these particular pirates, Norrington was beginning to wonder if it would be wise to continue his pursuit of the great Jack Sparrow (Captain-if-you-please).
He didn't think his sanity could stand it.
Plus, the man did save Elizabeth. Twice, as it were.
Turner had a father, a wife, and soon a son or daughter-just because his father happened to once be a pirate did not mean that he was obligated to arrest the man. So he wouldn't.
Norrington finished his tea and stood to leave. There were other pirates, after all.
And so, he bade Will and Elizabeth a fond farewell, and left for the Dauntless to begin a new patrol.
Looking out at the shoreline as the sun highlighted and reflected off the surface of the water, Will Turner decided that it was indeed a lovely day.
THE END
Review, please! And no, I won't write a sequel. It took me long enough to write this. Like, almost two years.
PART 6
"While there's life, there's hope." /-/Terence
Bootstrap had never been more annoyed with the military in his entire lifetime than he was at the present.
Commodore Norrington, in his haste to make any vagabond pay for the loss of three lives (on his watch, no less) was currently dragging Bill back to the stockade.
"You don't understand!" Bill protested, struggling to shake Lieutenant Gillette's grip upon his arms.
"I think I understand perfectly well, sir," Norrington answered.
Bootstrap practically shouted a blistering oath that brought a tinge of embarrassed red to both naval officers' faces. In the stunned pause they gave, Bootstrap slipped out of Gillette's grasp and began a full on sprint back to the path that Andre and Jack had made. Norrington gave pursuit.
*
It was like a haze had created a film over Jack's mind's eye. He could see snatches of what was going on, but it was like watching it all through a porthole. A very small porthole.
Where his visual perception had dwindled, his tactile senses had increased. His chest felt as though the blade was still cutting into him. He could literally feel the two women and the man on the other side of the door, even standing a meter away. It was a liberating sensation and an imprisoning one all at the same time. He couldn't control a thing that he was doing.
Andre raised the cutlass and rained heavy chopping blows upon the weakening wooden door. Jack heard Elizabeth and Anamaria scream. The metal of the blade dug almost completely through the plank before Andre yanked it back out to hit it again.
The mettalic thudding noise echoed painfully in Jack's skull. /Thud, shick.// /
"/De profundis clamo ad te domine."/
/ Thud, shick./
"It's not a bad look, really."
/ Thud, shick. /
"Fear yourself, Leftenant Sparrow?"
/ Thud, shick./
"Don't fear us. Fear them."
/ /A flash. The image of Will, Lizzie, Anamaria, Bootstrap, and Gibbs swam before his hazy eyes. This time, they didn't hold weapons. They were crying. Crying for him? Why?
/Thud, shick./
/ /Terror bled under the crack in the door and washed over Jack. He didn't like this. He didn't like what was going on. He didn't want to be afraid of himself anymore. A growl rumbled through his chest, and Andre paused in his attack on the door. His pointed muzzle turned to look back at Jack, and the pirate attacked.
They hit the door with enough force to break it inward, and the pair of brawling loup garou landed on top of it. Teeth were snapping everywhere-saliva and fur flew.
Across the room, cowering by the window, Elizabeth and Anamaria watched in shock. Gibbs was still unconscious on the bed and in no condition to save the two women. However, neither Anamaria nor Elizabeth were the type of women to just sit back and watch something happen while they helplessly screamed to their deaths.
The only weapon handy was the saber that Mister Gibbs had been so enamored with.
Having spent the most time wielding the sword in battle, Anamaria snatched the weapon from its innocuous position against the dresser and she held it in front of her in a ready position.
On the floor, Andre cuffed Jack roughly with the back of his paw-hard enough to knock the pirate flat. Jack landed across the room, unconscious.
The remaining creature growled when it caught sight of the weapon Anamaria was holding. It raised the cutlass that was gripped in one massive paw and brought it down in a whistling strike.
*
Bootstrap had never run any faster in his life than he did now. He felt as though his heart would burst through his chest from the strain of it, but he refused to slow down. A friend was in danger, and if he didn't get there in time...
A house loomed before him. He'd been clipping across the island so fast that he almost tripped up the stairs to the porch. Bootstrap could hear the telltale sounds of fighting upstairs-metal grating against metal-and readied himself for one last sprint.
He tripped. The toe of his boot caught on the side of an unconscious young man and Bootstrap flipped him over with the intention of waking him. He couldn't very well hold off two demonic wolf-things by himself.
Bootstrap suddenly had the impression that he was looking into a mirror. The young man he'd accidentally kicked in the ribs was so close to his own likeness that he felt dizzy. A pair of brown eyes-not very different from the two in his own head-cracked open, and Bootstrap's apparent doppelganger gasped.
"What's you're name?" Bootstrap asked.
"Will Turner..."
Bootstrap helped him sit up and tried to ignore the gut-punch sensation that he felt after hearing his son's name. Hell, it was his son. No one could possibly look that much like him without being blood related.
"You got any weapons, Will?"
His boy pointed to the wall behind him-it was lined with several swords and hatchets. Bootstrap retrieved a hatchet and a sword.
Will stood and gingerly touched the wound on his face. Bootstrap didn't want to waste any more time than he already did, and handed his son the sword.
"Do not act unless I tell you to do so," he instructed.
Will nodded carefully, and together they ran upstairs.
Twenty yards behind them, Commodore Norrington sprinted into the Turner yard.
*
Unfortunately for Anamaria, she was fighting against a beast twice her size with a blade that seemed to refuse to cut its hide. Elizabeth was fumbling around behind her, trying to find something that could be used as a weapon. All she could find, however, was another of Will's heavy brass candlesticks.
The cutlass that the lead beast was fighting with sang its metallic tune and sliced through the air in an arc that would ultimately rend Anamaria's head from her shoulders. Quick reflexes prevented her demise, however, and she brought the saber up to block.
As soon as the cutlass' stroke was finished, the saber snapped in half. The blade bounced off the hardwood floor, and Anamaria could have sworn that her entire life flashed before her eyes.
The creature howled in anger. His key way broken! And this woman was to blame. If she had just sat back and accepted her demise...
In the bed, oblivious to everything, Gibbs woke in a cold sweat.
Elizabeth muscled her way in front of Anamaria and she brandished the candlestick.
*
Through the broken remains of the door, Bootstrap saw the young lady's foolish attempt to hold off a creature twice her own size with naught but a candlestick. Without thinking, he reared back his throwing arm and hurled the silver hatchet at the creature's back.
It landed with a wet crack, and the beast howled.
Andre fell at Elizabeth's feet, stone dead.
Will barely took notice of the beast's death-instead he focused on the second, if woozy, creature and moved to strike, mindless of the fact that he'd been told not to do anything unless otherwise instructed.
Then Anamaria saw the scars.
"Wait!" she shouted.
Will paused mid-swing and nearly stumbled.
"It's Jack!"
Elizabeth frowned and looked at the creature. There they were-the beads and coins in his hair, the bullet scars, the pirate's brand in his forearm, and the strange scars on his left arm. "It is!" she acknowledged.
Will was confused.
Bootstrap, on the other hand, dug the decorative hatchet from Andre's back and stood in front of Jack. "You're in there somewhere, friend," he said.
Jack growled and placed a clawed hand over the wound Will had previously inflicted upon him.
Behind everyone, Norrington had made his way up the stairs at last. He fired his pistol without giving the action another thought, and Jack hit the wall again.
A pitiful whine pierced the room. Jack touched the gunshot wound with one claw and whimpered in pain. Bootstrap dropped the hatchet in favor of crossing the room in three quick strides, and Anamaria tore the sheet off the bed for him to use as a bandage. Gibbs protested.
"Wait just a moment, what in blue blazes is goin' on?"
Norrington, having spent his ammunition, brandished his sword and wondered the same thing.
"Sun up is soon, right lass?" Bootstrap asked Anamaria.
She nodded.
Elizabeth joined her husband and dabbed at his wounded face with the edge of her sleeve.
"What is this?" Norrington questioned.
Bootstrap tore the sheet and wrapped one of the strips around Jack's wounds. With the remaining cloth, he tucked it around his hips and legs-trapping him. "Someone grab his muzzle and hold on tight," he instructed.
Anamaria was by his side again, gently clamping Jack's snout shut with both hands. Bootstrap pulled tight on the ends of the bandage he made, and like a cornered animal (which, at the moment, he was) Jack squirmed to find a way out of his current situation. Trapped as he was, he had to endure the pain.
"Pressure should stop the bleeding," Bootstrap said.
Norrington drew attention to himself. "I demand an answer. What is this?"
"An ancient curse, commodore," Bootstrap answered. "There are old tales of how to cure it; I just have to remember..."
Norrington lowered his weapon and stood by the splintered door.
Anamaria carefully smoothed the wrinkles between Jack's eyes with her fingers. He calmed somewhat. Bootstrap looked down at the hatchet halfway across the room and suddenly had an idea.
"William, hand me the hatchet," he ordered.
The young man did as per request, and Bootstrap swallowed the uneasiness that was lodged in his throat. "Jack, you're going to have to trust an old friend not to muck this up." He cleaned the blade of the hatchet on the sheet that was covering Jack's legs.
The sun was rising outside.
There was a moment of uncertainty that was lost when Bootstrap placed the flat of the silver hatchet's blade against the bite wound on Jack's forehead. The skin hissed in protest, and Jack tried to get away from the sensation once again-but Anamaria had his jaw clamped between her strong hands.
She let go once she felt the bones shift beneath her fingers.
The sun climbed higher in the azure firmament, and Jack's wolf-like body reverted into its more natural, tanned form (however marred by scars and new wounds).
Out of all the people crowded in the small room, Norrington was the most astounded.
"God in Heaven..." he muttered.
Just as the sun cleared the horizon, Jack had completed his return to humanity and passed out.
*
Gibbs' wound had healed the moment that Andre met his doom by Bootstrap's well-aimed hatchet, and he moved downstairs to attend to Moises and Duncan-both of whom were still out cold in the foyer. Norrington, with his enormous sense of justice, felt it prudent to remain in the Turner household to see that Elizabeth and her husband were safe (more Elizabeth than Will, of course).
At the moment, Bootstrap and Will were tending Jack. Will had the decency to clothe the injured man, and Bootstrap began work on removing the buckshot from Jack's shoulder.
Anamaria stood off to the side.
"You'll be needing to stitch up that blade wound," she instructed. Bootstrap merely handed her a needle and thread.
"You do it, lass."
She made an unattractive face at the back of his head, but moved to the opposite side of the bed nonetheless. The wound was clean, and she set to work.
Across the room, Elizabeth (with Estrella's help) was cleaning the wound on Will's face.
"Honestly..." she grumbled.
"It's just a scratch, Elizabeth," Will shrugged it off. "It's nothing."
"As long as he didn't bite you," Bootstrap intoned from his position beside Jack.
Will shook his head negatively. "No, he didn't bite me. Just...scratched. Incidentally, who are you?" he asked.
"Bootstrap Bill," his father responded.
"Bootstrap Bill /Turner/?" Will repeated. "You can't be. You're supposed to be dead. On the bottom of the ocean. Tied to a cannon," he stilted.
Bill yanked the buckshot out of Jack's shoulder and looked insulted. "Last I checked my name was Bill Turner. And I was tied to a cannon, but I wasn't about to sit underwater for all eternity."
Will did a convincing impression of a fish.
"I spent...almost my entire life thinking you were dead," he finally said.
Bootstrap shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint, lad."
Will shook his head again. "I'm not disappointed. I'm just... I'm surprised. And glad. I finally get a chance to know who you are."
"And I have the same opportunity with you, lad," Bootstrap responded.
On the bed, Jack groaned. "Will the two of you kindly lower your voices? My head is killing me."
Anamaria shooed everyone out and returned to aiding her captain.
"You had me worried for a while, Captain," she muttered. She finished stitching up his first wound and reapplied a bandage to his shoulder.
"I worried you?" he asked.
"Aye."
Jack shifted against the mattress and blinked up at her. "How's that, love?"
Anamaria blinked right back at him. "First, you come back a day after we leave the island with a wound, then you scream in your sleep, then you act all feverish and hand yerself over to the commodore, then I come back here to save ye, and you're a bloody loup garou!"
"Save me? I thought we were here to save Mister Gibbs..."
"Hell can have Mister Gibbs! I was more worried about you!" Anamaria yelled.
Jack blinked again.
They stared at one another for several moments before Anamaria sighed in defeat and plopped herself down into a bedside chair. After another long stretch of silence, she was sure that Jack had fallen asleep and got up to go downstairs and bargain for his release with Commodore Norrington. His voice made her pause.
"It's a nice dress," he said.
She looked back. His eyes were closed and he was smiling like nothing strange or unusual had happened at all.
"Ye tryin' to compliment me, or the dressmaker?"
His smile broke into a grin that showed off the gold caps over his teeth. His normal, Captain-Jack-Sparrow, teeth.
"Would ye believe both?" he asked.
Anamaria allowed him one of her own impish grins and she left the room to do what she'd intended to.
*
In the dining room, Norrington was enjoying a nice cup of tea that had some brandy seasoning in it. Anamaria found that her case had already been plead by Elizabeth and Will, and the good commodore was agreeing to their terms. He'd leave the pirates be as long as they were in Port Royal for this stretch, but afterwards they were fair game.
After seeing the things he had that occurred around these particular pirates, Norrington was beginning to wonder if it would be wise to continue his pursuit of the great Jack Sparrow (Captain-if-you-please).
He didn't think his sanity could stand it.
Plus, the man did save Elizabeth. Twice, as it were.
Turner had a father, a wife, and soon a son or daughter-just because his father happened to once be a pirate did not mean that he was obligated to arrest the man. So he wouldn't.
Norrington finished his tea and stood to leave. There were other pirates, after all.
And so, he bade Will and Elizabeth a fond farewell, and left for the Dauntless to begin a new patrol.
Looking out at the shoreline as the sun highlighted and reflected off the surface of the water, Will Turner decided that it was indeed a lovely day.
THE END
Review, please! And no, I won't write a sequel. It took me long enough to write this. Like, almost two years.
DISCLAIMER: Disney owns pretty much the whole world DISCLAIMER: Disney owns pretty much the whole world. I don't own any of the world because I'm just a college student. An ART college student at that. So I couldn't possibly own PotC, right? Right?
PART 6
"While there's life, there's hope." /-/Terence
Bootstrap had never been more annoyed with the military in his entire lifetime than he was at the present.
Commodore Norrington, in his haste to make any vagabond pay for the loss of three lives (on his watch, no less) was currently dragging Bill back to the stockade.
"You don't understand!" Bill protested, struggling to shake Lieutenant Gillette's grip upon his arms.
"I think I understand perfectly well, sir," Norrington answered.
Bootstrap practically shouted a blistering oath that brought a tinge of embarrassed red to both naval officers' faces. In the stunned pause they gave, Bootstrap slipped out of Gillette's grasp and began a full on sprint back to the path that Andre and Jack had made. Norrington gave pursuit.
*
It was like a haze had created a film over Jack's mind's eye. He could see snatches of what was going on, but it was like watching it all through a porthole. A very small porthole.
Where his visual perception had dwindled, his tactile senses had increased. His chest felt as though the blade was still cutting into him. He could literally feel the two women and the man on the other side of the door, even standing a meter away. It was a liberating sensation and an imprisoning one all at the same time. He couldn't control a thing that he was doing.
Andre raised the cutlass and rained heavy chopping blows upon the weakening wooden door. Jack heard Elizabeth and Anamaria scream. The metal of the blade dug almost completely through the plank before Andre yanked it back out to hit it again.
The mettalic thudding noise echoed painfully in Jack's skull. /Thud, shick.// /
"/De profundis clamo ad te domine."/
/ Thud, shick./
"It's not a bad look, really."
/ Thud, shick. /
"Fear yourself, Leftenant Sparrow?"
/ Thud, shick./
"Don't fear us. Fear them."
/ /A flash. The image of Will, Lizzie, Anamaria, Bootstrap, and Gibbs swam before his hazy eyes. This time, they didn't hold weapons. They were crying. Crying for him? Why?
/Thud, shick./
/ /Terror bled under the crack in the door and washed over Jack. He didn't like this. He didn't like what was going on. He didn't want to be afraid of himself anymore. A growl rumbled through his chest, and Andre paused in his attack on the door. His pointed muzzle turned to look back at Jack, and the pirate attacked.
They hit the door with enough force to break it inward, and the pair of brawling loup garou landed on top of it. Teeth were snapping everywhere-saliva and fur flew.
Across the room, cowering by the window, Elizabeth and Anamaria watched in shock. Gibbs was still unconscious on the bed and in no condition to save the two women. However, neither Anamaria nor Elizabeth were the type of women to just sit back and watch something happen while they helplessly screamed to their deaths.
The only weapon handy was the saber that Mister Gibbs had been so enamored with.
Having spent the most time wielding the sword in battle, Anamaria snatched the weapon from its innocuous position against the dresser and she held it in front of her in a ready position.
On the floor, Andre cuffed Jack roughly with the back of his paw-hard enough to knock the pirate flat. Jack landed across the room, unconscious.
The remaining creature growled when it caught sight of the weapon Anamaria was holding. It raised the cutlass that was gripped in one massive paw and brought it down in a whistling strike.
*
Bootstrap had never run any faster in his life than he did now. He felt as though his heart would burst through his chest from the strain of it, but he refused to slow down. A friend was in danger, and if he didn't get there in time...
A house loomed before him. He'd been clipping across the island so fast that he almost tripped up the stairs to the porch. Bootstrap could hear the telltale sounds of fighting upstairs-metal grating against metal-and readied himself for one last sprint.
He tripped. The toe of his boot caught on the side of an unconscious young man and Bootstrap flipped him over with the intention of waking him. He couldn't very well hold off two demonic wolf-things by himself.
Bootstrap suddenly had the impression that he was looking into a mirror. The young man he'd accidentally kicked in the ribs was so close to his own likeness that he felt dizzy. A pair of brown eyes-not very different from the two in his own head-cracked open, and Bootstrap's apparent doppelganger gasped.
"What's you're name?" Bootstrap asked.
"Will Turner..."
Bootstrap helped him sit up and tried to ignore the gut-punch sensation that he felt after hearing his son's name. Hell, it was his son. No one could possibly look that much like him without being blood related.
"You got any weapons, Will?"
His boy pointed to the wall behind him-it was lined with several swords and hatchets. Bootstrap retrieved a hatchet and a sword.
Will stood and gingerly touched the wound on his face. Bootstrap didn't want to waste any more time than he already did, and handed his son the sword.
"Do not act unless I tell you to do so," he instructed.
Will nodded carefully, and together they ran upstairs.
Twenty yards behind them, Commodore Norrington sprinted into the Turner yard.
*
Unfortunately for Anamaria, she was fighting against a beast twice her size with a blade that seemed to refuse to cut its hide. Elizabeth was fumbling around behind her, trying to find something that could be used as a weapon. All she could find, however, was another of Will's heavy brass candlesticks.
The cutlass that the lead beast was fighting with sang its metallic tune and sliced through the air in an arc that would ultimately rend Anamaria's head from her shoulders. Quick reflexes prevented her demise, however, and she brought the saber up to block.
As soon as the cutlass' stroke was finished, the saber snapped in half. The blade bounced off the hardwood floor, and Anamaria could have sworn that her entire life flashed before her eyes.
The creature howled in anger. His key way broken! And this woman was to blame. If she had just sat back and accepted her demise...
In the bed, oblivious to everything, Gibbs woke in a cold sweat.
Elizabeth muscled her way in front of Anamaria and she brandished the candlestick.
*
Through the broken remains of the door, Bootstrap saw the young lady's foolish attempt to hold off a creature twice her own size with naught but a candlestick. Without thinking, he reared back his throwing arm and hurled the silver hatchet at the creature's back.
It landed with a wet crack, and the beast howled.
Andre fell at Elizabeth's feet, stone dead.
Will barely took notice of the beast's death-instead he focused on the second, if woozy, creature and moved to strike, mindless of the fact that he'd been told not to do anything unless otherwise instructed.
Then Anamaria saw the scars.
"Wait!" she shouted.
Will paused mid-swing and nearly stumbled.
"It's Jack!"
Elizabeth frowned and looked at the creature. There they were-the beads and coins in his hair, the bullet scars, the pirate's brand in his forearm, and the strange scars on his left arm. "It is!" she acknowledged.
Will was confused.
Bootstrap, on the other hand, dug the decorative hatchet from Andre's back and stood in front of Jack. "You're in there somewhere, friend," he said.
Jack growled and placed a clawed hand over the wound Will had previously inflicted upon him.
Behind everyone, Norrington had made his way up the stairs at last. He fired his pistol without giving the action another thought, and Jack hit the wall again.
A pitiful whine pierced the room. Jack touched the gunshot wound with one claw and whimpered in pain. Bootstrap dropped the hatchet in favor of crossing the room in three quick strides, and Anamaria tore the sheet off the bed for him to use as a bandage. Gibbs protested.
"Wait just a moment, what in blue blazes is goin' on?"
Norrington, having spent his ammunition, brandished his sword and wondered the same thing.
"Sun up is soon, right lass?" Bootstrap asked Anamaria.
She nodded.
Elizabeth joined her husband and dabbed at his wounded face with the edge of her sleeve.
"What is this?" Norrington questioned.
Bootstrap tore the sheet and wrapped one of the strips around Jack's wounds. With the remaining cloth, he tucked it around his hips and legs-trapping him. "Someone grab his muzzle and hold on tight," he instructed.
Anamaria was by his side again, gently clamping Jack's snout shut with both hands. Bootstrap pulled tight on the ends of the bandage he made, and like a cornered animal (which, at the moment, he was) Jack squirmed to find a way out of his current situation. Trapped as he was, he had to endure the pain.
"Pressure should stop the bleeding," Bootstrap said.
Norrington drew attention to himself. "I demand an answer. What is this?"
"An ancient curse, commodore," Bootstrap answered. "There are old tales of how to cure it; I just have to remember..."
Norrington lowered his weapon and stood by the splintered door.
Anamaria carefully smoothed the wrinkles between Jack's eyes with her fingers. He calmed somewhat. Bootstrap looked down at the hatchet halfway across the room and suddenly had an idea.
"William, hand me the hatchet," he ordered.
The young man did as per request, and Bootstrap swallowed the uneasiness that was lodged in his throat. "Jack, you're going to have to trust an old friend not to muck this up." He cleaned the blade of the hatchet on the sheet that was covering Jack's legs.
The sun was rising outside.
There was a moment of uncertainty that was lost when Bootstrap placed the flat of the silver hatchet's blade against the bite wound on Jack's forehead. The skin hissed in protest, and Jack tried to get away from the sensation once again-but Anamaria had his jaw clamped between her strong hands.
She let go once she felt the bones shift beneath her fingers.
The sun climbed higher in the azure firmament, and Jack's wolf-like body reverted into its more natural, tanned form (however marred by scars and new wounds).
Out of all the people crowded in the small room, Norrington was the most astounded.
"God in Heaven..." he muttered.
Just as the sun cleared the horizon, Jack had completed his return to humanity and passed out.
*
Gibbs' wound had healed the moment that Andre met his doom by Bootstrap's well-aimed hatchet, and he moved downstairs to attend to Moises and Duncan-both of whom were still out cold in the foyer. Norrington, with his enormous sense of justice, felt it prudent to remain in the Turner household to see that Elizabeth and her husband were safe (more Elizabeth than Will, of course).
At the moment, Bootstrap and Will were tending Jack. Will had the decency to clothe the injured man, and Bootstrap began work on removing the buckshot from Jack's shoulder.
Anamaria stood off to the side.
"You'll be needing to stitch up that blade wound," she instructed. Bootstrap merely handed her a needle and thread.
"You do it, lass."
She made an unattractive face at the back of his head, but moved to the opposite side of the bed nonetheless. The wound was clean, and she set to work.
Across the room, Elizabeth (with Estrella's help) was cleaning the wound on Will's face.
"Honestly..." she grumbled.
"It's just a scratch, Elizabeth," Will shrugged it off. "It's nothing."
"As long as he didn't bite you," Bootstrap intoned from his position beside Jack.
Will shook his head negatively. "No, he didn't bite me. Just...scratched. Incidentally, who are you?" he asked.
"Bootstrap Bill," his father responded.
"Bootstrap Bill /Turner/?" Will repeated. "You can't be. You're supposed to be dead. On the bottom of the ocean. Tied to a cannon," he stilted.
Bill yanked the buckshot out of Jack's shoulder and looked insulted. "Last I checked my name was Bill Turner. And I was tied to a cannon, but I wasn't about to sit underwater for all eternity."
Will did a convincing impression of a fish.
"I spent...almost my entire life thinking you were dead," he finally said.
Bootstrap shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint, lad."
Will shook his head again. "I'm not disappointed. I'm just... I'm surprised. And glad. I finally get a chance to know who you are."
"And I have the same opportunity with you, lad," Bootstrap responded.
On the bed, Jack groaned. "Will the two of you kindly lower your voices? My head is killing me."
Anamaria shooed everyone out and returned to aiding her captain.
"You had me worried for a while, Captain," she muttered. She finished stitching up his first wound and reapplied a bandage to his shoulder.
"I worried you?" he asked.
"Aye."
Jack shifted against the mattress and blinked up at her. "How's that, love?"
Anamaria blinked right back at him. "First, you come back a day after we leave the island with a wound, then you scream in your sleep, then you act all feverish and hand yerself over to the commodore, then I come back here to save ye, and you're a bloody loup garou!"
"Save me? I thought we were here to save Mister Gibbs..."
"Hell can have Mister Gibbs! I was more worried about you!" Anamaria yelled.
Jack blinked again.
They stared at one another for several moments before Anamaria sighed in defeat and plopped herself down into a bedside chair. After another long stretch of silence, she was sure that Jack had fallen asleep and got up to go downstairs and bargain for his release with Commodore Norrington. His voice made her pause.
"It's a nice dress," he said.
She looked back. His eyes were closed and he was smiling like nothing strange or unusual had happened at all.
"Ye tryin' to compliment me, or the dressmaker?"
His smile broke into a grin that showed off the gold caps over his teeth. His normal, Captain-Jack-Sparrow, teeth.
"Would ye believe both?" he asked.
Anamaria allowed him one of her own impish grins and she left the room to do what she'd intended to.
*
In the dining room, Norrington was enjoying a nice cup of tea that had some brandy seasoning in it. Anamaria found that her case had already been plead by Elizabeth and Will, and the good commodore was agreeing to their terms. He'd leave the pirates be as long as they were in Port Royal for this stretch, but afterwards they were fair game.
After seeing the things he had that occurred around these particular pirates, Norrington was beginning to wonder if it would be wise to continue his pursuit of the great Jack Sparrow (Captain-if-you-please).
He didn't think his sanity could stand it.
Plus, the man did save Elizabeth. Twice, as it were.
Turner had a father, a wife, and soon a son or daughter-just because his father happened to once be a pirate did not mean that he was obligated to arrest the man. So he wouldn't.
Norrington finished his tea and stood to leave. There were other pirates, after all.
And so, he bade Will and Elizabeth a fond farewell, and left for the Dauntless to begin a new patrol.
Looking out at the shoreline as the sun highlighted and reflected off the surface of the water, Will Turner decided that it was indeed a lovely day.
THE END
Review, please! And no, I won't write a sequel. It took me long enough to write this. Like, almost two years.
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