Title: The Sparrow and the Starling

Author: Cynic

Rating: R

Warning: Some gore, non-consensual sex/otherwiseknown as rape, murder, character death, sadism, future slash, and general angstyness.

Disclaimer: I am just pilfering my weaselly black guts out.

Pairing: Jack/Will (in Seme/Uke correctness. Gotta admit that Jack wears the pants)

Archive: Yes, please! Just inform me at [email protected]

Feedback: Anything from flames, fangirlism (don't I wish) to constructive criticism

A/N: I have an original character in this. I admit it. Give me a taste o' the cat, cap'n. Moses' law and all that jazz. I promise you though, he is no Gary Stu. He is a convenient bad guy, because I am pretending the whole monkey bit at the very end of the movie did not happen. Loved Barabossa to death, but he is dead so I love him no longer. Oh, and tell me if you think this is overwritten, cause I do. Many thanks and many toothpicks to my beta-readers Ducky and Haya. And any and all errors with regards to OOCness or setting are mine, because neither have seen the movie^^. PS some of the errors are probably Disneys and I just changed them closer to the truth. I would love if people told me where I made an error about pirates/ships/blacksmithing in regards to real life. I researched this far more than was necessary, and I am a bit masochistic about accuracy. Enjoy!



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Chapter 1- Fate

It was nearly a year after the wedding when they moved to Tortuga, and the baby was about five months old. Before that there was a two month engagement, (it was originally planned as three, but they certainly did not want her to show on her wedding) and prior even to that there was four more months of avoiding and coy looks.

She had looked beautiful in her white gown, glistening in the sunlight. He had allowed her father to pay for the wedding, but he had bought the dress himself and he had made the ring. It was coarse and rough compared to what he could have bought in a jeweler, but it was his. They walked together under the swords and watched her father subtly wipe away a tear. They had celebrated, with rum and wine, for Jack came and refused to drink anything but rum. He managed to shock the entire party, but the couple just laughed when he began to sing. And the song he sang was enough to bring a blush to any light wench. The Commodore sent him disapproving looks, but he could not arrest him. Her father had announced that for this one happy day, he was to remain free. Jack liked this very much, and on his way back to his ship he took a fancy to the Commodore's hat, and so Honored Commodore Norrington was less one. It was a happy day.

But then the whispers started. Elizabeth had moved into Will's small smithy, and they lived in the apartment above it. When she went to the market or the pump for some fresh water, there were always guarded looks and hidden smirks. How low the high have fallen, they said. They looked at her simple brown frock and they remembered silks and laces. They saw her husband's small business, and how empty it always was. With the Commodore's icy acceptance of the couple, none within the army dared to buy their weapons from him. And no pirate could come to his shop, because everyone knew that the Turners had bad blood in them. Stories were told of the Pearl and her Captain. Stories that involved their neighbors, and suddenly more than whispers were against the Turners. They no longer hid their disdain. One time she even heard it suggested that the child wasn't Will's, after all she was with a ship full of men for a good time. And that girl, she looks the type to be sleeping around with everyone and their brothers. That was the final straw.

Will packed up the smithy and managed to sell the last of the goods. They talked a ship into taking them to Tortuga by promising the Captain a custom sword and one for his first mate. Will bought a small shop and managed to scrounge enough money for an anvil and other tools. That was two years ago.

He lay there, in the dark, with the gentle breathing of his son reaching his ears. His arm wrapped around his pretty wife, pressed against his side. Resting above his thriving forge, in his nice little home, and he was unhappy. Elizabeth felt so right against him, like she belonged there. Like fate had put her there and meant her to stay. Will had never liked the idea of fate. He hated it when it separated him from his love, and now he despised it for bringing them together.

Life was good now, in this little shop. The other women, the whores and the pickpockets, respected and liked Elizabeth. They fawned and petted little Billy, and smiled saucily at his father. The pirates and n'er do wells of this island welcomed them as fellow outcastes.

 Now when she went to the market, she would smile at old lady Abby and her girls. Or she would get stormed by young Becky, wife of one of Jack's men, and be begged for gossip. She was happy here, in spite of the grunge and the dirt.
Will wasn't so sure though. He stayed in his smithy and worked the iron like he used to before the Pearl came into their lives. It did not bring the peace it had, though. He did not feel as content beating swords into sharpness or hinges into shape as he did looking at the ocean in the evenings on his way to the pub. Elizabeth tried to be happily oblivious and they both made sure nothing touched their son.

Little William Jonathan Turner, his boy, and a fine one he was. Already talking and chattering up a storm, he had no fear of strangers as many other toddlers did. He was really raised by everyone, because everyone insisted. A precocious and brown skinned child, he was always playing with the little wooden sword that Will had made him, and the little wooden musket. It drove Elizabeth insane, the thought of her son growing up to be a pirate. She did not mind pirates, in principle. But, her fear was that Billy would grow up like his godfather, Jack Sparrow, and sail away nine months of the year leaving worried friends behind him. Last year, rumors floated around of his death, and all three of them were on tenterhooks until he came back. Billy was too young to understand why they were all afraid, but he just knew that Mummy and Da were not happy and so he wasn't happy. Little Billy loved Jack, though. Whenever he would come back to Tortuga with his ship (only about five times in the two years they had lived here) Billy would be in ecstasy. Jack's last visit happened to coincide with Billy's birthday, so much to the concern of both parents, Jack took the two year old out drinking in celebration. The elder Will was not allowed to come, and Jack just smiled in that dazed way of his at Elizabeth and gruffly said, "The lad will be fine, love. Don't worry a bit, Uncle Jack will take care of him." To which Elizabeth groaned and took the rum bottle from him and swigged it, "That's what I am afraid of."

Elizabeth. She was his wife, and he loved her, but sometimes he felt like he loved her-and made love to her-because he was supposed to. There was no passion in their marriage, but he had the feeling that Elizabeth liked it that way. Liked the normalcy and the quiet. She liked it, and so Will did too. They were so perfect together, so cute. And all their troubles to get to each other, well it must be fate. Or so everyone said. Will thought it was fate. But Will always hated destiny. As if stirred by his thoughts of her, she shifted closer to him, pressing her cold feet against his legs, and her warm body against the rest of him. She smiled gently in her sleep, looking as sweet as she always did. As he drifted off to sleep, a faint grimace formed on his features. He didn't like to be trapped.

The next morning, Will worked the forge, and Elizabeth went out with Billy to go shopping. He heated up the iron in the flame of his forge, and when it glowed red-hot he took it out. The metal had a sort of beauty to it, a fiery loveliness that used to enchant him whenever he worked it. The flame licked the blackness and turned it into something like the sun through clouds at sunset. He had loved to bend it to his will, to make the pliable metal hard and useful.

He was not making anything dramatic this morning. No sword or battle ax, nothing that would ever even see battle. He was just making a chisel for some carpenter. The door opened behind him, but he did not turn around.

Captain Henry Young was an intimidating man. Tall and lanky, he carried himself with a grace that could only be described as feline. He had well formed features and wore a wig like the lords of Mother England. His outfits were always made by the most talented and least scrupulous of the tailors and they were always pressed and starched. He spent his gold with a generous hand to those who needed it and did not take to hard drinking or loose woman. In every way he appeared as well mannered and educated as any other gentleman. He seemed to make liars out of those who called all pirates bloodthirsty scoundrels and scallywags. Until he smiled.

Then he put Blackbeard to shame and made all the other vagabonds look positively wronged. His blue eyes would gleam with a great intelligence matched only by his callous disregard for human life. Pain on others was nothing to him, but woe upon those who had seen him put down or beaten. Then mere pain would be the least of their worries. They called him the Cruel Aristocrat and his ship, dubbed the Hawk, was a sight to be feared even among the bravest of men. It was said that she only flew the bloody flag, only flew a simple red flag. She needed no other, men whispered, she never gave any quarter.

She was a fine vessel, a ship in the true sense of the word with three masts and square-rigged sails. She weighed a fair bit over 200 tons and had 32 guns. She carried about 200 men, less a few every battle, more every town. Her hull was painted in somber grays and greens because Captain Young never found it necessary to repaint her. Her former job was searching down her new masters as part of the Royal Navy and then she was called the Sea Rose. But any honest pirate refused to sail under such a weak name, and so she became the. She was, in truth, a pirate worthy ship.

But Will did not know any of that, nor did he really care. Living in such a nest of buccaneers as Tortuga is bound to make one less afraid of even the worst of them. After all, it is difficult to be afraid of men that you have seen loosing at dice and getting dead drunk on bad rum.

Maybe this pirate was a bit better dressed than most. Maybe he was a tad meaner. Will couldn't tell either; he couldn't even see the man as he was working with his back to the door.

"Just a moment," he said to the unknown person behind him, "I'm nearly done." Maybe the person was about to demand service, or maybe not. Whatever Captain Henry Young was about to do, he had no time to do it because in bustled Elizabeth. She was holding a cloth bag full of her shopping and trying to contain Billy, who was determined to assault the stranger.

"Never mind, Will. I'll help him. Now, how may I help you, sir?" she said while shooing Billy upstairs.

"Thank you, m'lady. I am Captain Young, of the Hawk. Could your husband make me ten grappling irons?" he said courteously, and with a slight nod as he introduced himself. Elizabeth, having been born and raised in the society he was aping, was impressed with his manners but it fit him wrong. She felt uneasy with his affections and etiquette, as if he was wearing a waistcoat several sizes too small. He was much too fluid to be a real noble, he had too much ferocity in his movements. He had all the arrogance but he was not pompous enough. He had all the manners, but none of the ingrained habits of real aristocrats. In short he was as much of a gentleman as any other pirate captain. But you couldn't fault him for trying.

"We actually have several already made. But the rest Mr. Turner will have to-" she halted mid-sentence and rushed upstairs after a loud crash. Will quenched his work and turned around, wiping his hands against his leather apron. The captain chuckled and said to Will, "You have a lovely family, Mr. Turner."

Will smiled and was about to respond, but Billy crawled down the stairs again at that moment. Brandishing his wooden sword he hollered something, a battle cry presumably, and gave the Captain a solid whack on the shin.

"Avast yah lobsterback!" he squealed in his high pitched voice, "I be Captain Jacky Sparrow and I dead you!" He finished his pronouncement with another wallop on the man's shins. Young's eyes glittered as he bent down and in a smooth movement removed the sword from Billy's hands. Holding it out of reach, he gripped the boys shoulder tightly so that the child whimpered.

"Jack Sparrow," he mused, mulling over the words. The boy and his sword were scooped out his hands by Elizabeth, who shushed Billy.

"Do you know the man?" he asked, looking at Elizabeth sharply.

"Yes, we do. He is a close friend of Will and I." she said, suspicious of his tone and demeanor.

"He be the bestest pirate ever!" Billy piped up, always wanting to submit his opinion.

"Is he now?" the pirate said. "I bet you knew him. And I bet he knows you. All of you." He said to Elizabeth in a provocative and suggestive tone. His manner suddenly changed. He no longer tried to be nice and gentle, he was now showing what he really is, a pirate and a good one.

Elizabeth fumed and slapped him hard about the face, "Don't talk that way about me or Captain Jack Sparrow ever again."

He merely smiled and Elizabeth took an involuntary step back. She heard the sound of Will drawing his sword but Elizabeth stopped him with a word.

The other man continued, "You mean you don't know of his reputation? He knows about every woman he meets and a whole bloody lot of the men too. Maybe Mr. Turner over there is the one that knows him, eh?" He smirked, fully aware of how angry he was making the two of them.

Elizabeth wound up for another slap but Young caught her hand. Holding it tightly in his grip, he sneered down at her, "Maybe Mr. Turner, this lovely family isn't entirely yours, hmmm?"

Suddenly the sunlight glinted off a sword point at his throat, "Remove your filthy hands from my wife." He threw her hand down and she backed away, holding Billy close to her. Will continued to hold his weapon steady.

"Now, get out of my store," he said.

The pirate backed away and out the door with Will following him to it. As he walked stiffly down the road, Mad Jan crowed out at him, perched as she always was on the steps of the whorehouse across the street, "Fly little Starling. Fly away. Fly!"

Sheathing his sword, he went back into his smithy. Elizabeth was trying to comfort a shaking Billy and as he took the both of them into his arms, he realized that she was quivering just as hard. Will was scared. He was terrified, he knew what men like that would do to avenge a wrong.

 In his fear, he lashed out onto Elizabeth, " I thought I told you not to defend Jack to anyone."

She said back angrily, "He was not only insulting Jack, Will, he was insulting me. Should I stand by and let him do it?"

He pulled back from her, "With men like him, Elizabeth, that's exactly what you should do. You know Jack has more enemies than there are fleas in this blasted town."

"But I don't!"

"Most pirates don't like to be humiliated by a lady."

"Most pirates deserve to."

"He won't forget this."

"He'd better not."

"Do you want to get hurt?"

"You may be a coward, William Turner. But I am not," she spat at him, turning around and marching up the stairs. Billy, in her arms, had been calm but this sudden movement and shouting sent him wailing again. Will watched her go, and turned back to his work.

He snarled at the metal and pounded it more than was strictly necessary, furious at Elizabeth and himself.  Why could he not just tell her it scared him to see her do that? To see her risk herself like that. He knew why he couldn't. He knew that if he said anything of that nature, she would melt. She would gaze at him with her doe-like brown eyes, and her soft face would go even softer. She would hope that now would be the time when he finally told her again that he loved her, like he said he would everyday. She would ask, why? Why are you afraid? And he couldn't lie to her. He never lied to her. But could he look at her, her hopeful and loving face, could he look at her and say, because I don't love you?

It seems nonsensical, to want her to live because he didn't need her. It seemed ludicrous even, but he could not explain it. He could not say why his lack of adoration for her translated into a burning need for her to live, but he knew it. He was so confused. He did not know why he no longer loved her. He did not know anything anymore. She was his last anchor to the old Will. Without her, there was no telling what he could do or would do. And he did not want to find out.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, and two thin and pale arms snaking around his waist, "Will?" she said softly, "I'm sorry."

He sat down the now useless piece of iron and turned around, taking her into his arms. Looking down at her, he smiled softly, "No worries, love."

Pulling her closer to him, she sighed against his chest. Sobbing silently she pressed her face against her fading husband and answered, "No worries at all."

Later, at the supper table, the family was eating in near silence. Will and Elizabeth were still uncomfortable with each other.  The woman kept looking at him, and every time she did, a slow smile would form across her lips. The smile was bitter, sad. It was mournful, but resigned. She knew she was losing Will, even though Will might not know he was lost.

Only Billy was not worried, but Billy never was. He was humming some shanty as he ate and both parents were thankful he was only humming. Jack had taught the boy an amazing number of songs, all of them crude, some just plain obscene. The boy took special delight in singing the particularly bad ones around unsuspecting strangers and watching their faces. When they inevitably reacted, he would then break into happy giggles, and it was hopeless to try to get him to stop singing from then on. The songs were definitely not Jack's only legacy. The scoundrel had the boy convinced that "Cap'n Jacky Sparrow" was the best pirate on the seven seas, and that the ones his mates talk about were only "fakers." He had him calling all kings men "lobsterbacks" after a term he found in the Colonies that he took a fancy to. Billy was now always asking for "a drop o' grog" and could curse just as well as any pirate in five languages. In fact, Will sometimes thought that Billy's vocabulary was larger in that area than any other. Jack was so proud. But now he was only humming, and no words were spoken over the simple stew and crusty bread.

Elizabeth cleaned up dinner and Will played with his son. The firelight flickered in her eyes, but they were unreadable. Will did not look at her more than he had to, because when he did he would have to face what he had been avoiding. They were growing apart and they both knew it. Will by now had mastered the art of denial; he still believed that their marriage could recover. That they would look back at this troubled time twenty years from now, alone again in this small smithy and they would laugh. That he still loved her and adored her and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. But Elizabeth never had her head in the clouds so far that she could no longer see where she was putting her feet. She could see the trap ahead of them, and it scared her. It frightened her in near the same way that the thought of her death frightened Will. It was the future, it was unknown, it was dangerous and uncertain. Both their lives had been based on certainties and all those certainties based on fate. Now it seemed all three factors, their lives, their certainties, and fate, were falling apart.

            Suddenly there came a crash from below the stairs. Will jumped up and looked at Elizabeth wordlessly. Their gazes locked and thousands of thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears past threw that connection in an instant.  Elizabeth turned away and nodded to him. As he ran down the stairs she whispered something at his retreating back, "Goodbye."

            The murky gloom of the smithy enveloped him. The moonlight glinted off of one of the swords on the wall and even the comfort of his forge seemed ominous in the plutonian blackness of this night.  Drawing his sword in one sure movement, he held it at ready while exploring the darkness around him. Taking a unsteady step forward, he called out "Hello?"

            He expected no answer, but to his surprise he got one in the form of an oil lamp lit. What he took moments before as a sword hanging on the wall was a glint of a sword true, but it was not on a wall. Before him stood one of the ugliest pirates he had ever seen.

            His bald head was tattooed with gory scenes from the most unlikely of places, the Bible. Above his ear played out the feeding of Christians to the lions in all its bloody detail and above his eye was Jesus dying on the cross. Revelations happened on his crown and it was all in incredible vibrancy. It was a bizarre panoply of piousness and cynicism but somehow it seemed to fit him. He had four earrings in his right ear, hoops of ascending sizes, but on his left ear dangled a simple pearl. His shirt was simple white linen, but it was no longer white in any true sense of the term. Dirt, blood, sweat and probably less savory things drew another picture across his chest, although this one an abstract promising only death. His belt held three primed pistols, but he held none of them. All he was holding was a cutlass.

            It was a hanger, actually, but the pirate probably didn't know that. Only a sword smith or an expert could tell the difference and there really wasn't much difference to begin with. The hanger was made with great skill and was obviously a fine blade. The pirate probably stole it from some Navy officer, which would explain why it was not a cutlass. Cutlasses were strictly maritime and had a definite connotation of piracy, a connotation that no officer would want. It was a short sword, curved and heavy, with a blade on only one side.

            Will did not have time to contemplate more of the intricacies of the other mans sword, because said sword was currently on a path toward his head. With a quick parry, Will engaged the deadly dance of steel and muscle. He lost himself in every thrust and every riposte, his blade flashing the light from the lamp into the face of his opponent. The other man was smiling, gold teeth showing clearly against the blackness of his other ones.

Will was confused by this display of confidence, because with every attack it was becoming clearer that this man was no great swordsman.

            That was when Elizabeth screamed. It was then he knew he had been fooled again, had forgotten the only two rules a pirate lived by. Will threw himself at the other man, no longer bothering with any finesse and allowing himself to be consumed by fear and anger. Because of this, his skill was rapidly fading and the former dance was transformed into a hack and slash method of desperation. A ribbon of blood blossomed on Will's cheek as he threw himself out of the way of the incoming blade. He regained his balanced and drew blood off of the other mans thigh. Will knew he had to end this, and to do that he needed to think like a pirate.

            He gained hold over his emotions and smiled at the other man. The pirate smiled back, equally as menacing as their blades clashed. Maneuvering the other man toward his anvil, he lunged wildly. The movement sent the pirate off balance and a shove from Wills shoulder sent him crashing to the ground. However it knocked Will over too, and if the pirate hadn't hit his head on the anvil on the way down, Will would probably be dead.

            Gazing at his fallen foe, he showed that he was no pirate and did not kill him, just took the other mans sword, it being better than his own. Running up the stairs, two at a time, he threw open the door at the top of the flight. There stood another man, smaller and less threatening then his partner downstairs, but just as foreboding. Again, Will fought. Above the sound of his heartbeat, the hard click of boot against stair, and the clash of metal against metal, Will heard what he had been dreading. Soft masculine moans, and whimpers he knew to be Elizabeth's. With every parry and lunge he heard the squelching and slapping noises of what was going on only feet away. Every attack he renewed his anger and became more fierce and deadly. Just as Elizabeth called out in pain, fear, and denied pleasure his name, he dealt the mortal blow. Stepping over the man, now missing his head, he entered the room only to see Captain Henry Morgan pull out from his wife.

            Staring in shock, Will watched him buckle his pants and turn around. Seeing Will, the man smiled. Drawing a small dagger from a hidden sheath, he slit her throat with one swift movement.. The contrast of the blood against her white skin and the even whiter sheets broke him from his horror and he gave an animalistic cry, lunging at the other man. He sidestepped the attack and leapt out the broken window onto the roof of the building next to theirs.

            Will ran to his wife, her eyes now glazed and her face now empty. His salty tears mingled with his own blood, sluggishly seeping out from the cut on his cheek, to drop onto her bed. He could not close his own eyes, but he was unable to bear looking at her prone and beaten form. He did not look at her torn frock or the obvious evidence of violation. Her own eyes, open still, stared back. With a movement of his hand, he closed her lids and shuddered at the deceptive warmness of her flesh. She had been alive only moments before, but she was not now. Stumbling backwards, dry-retching with repulsion he leaned back against the wall, the only solid thing in his careening world. He sunk slowly to his knees and sobbed helplessly, ignoring the sounds coming from downstairs as Captain Young presumably retrieved his man. He saw his handsome son lying on the floor near the foot of the bed. It looked like he had drowned in his own blood. The drip of the metallic liquid formed another pool near the headboard of the bed. A third puddle, this one of tears, leaking unashamedly, joined the rest of the family.
           

(A/N- I am in a quandary. To make this a one shot, change the name and the references to Starling by Mad Jan, or to turn it into the many chaptered story I want it to be. So, y'all need to tell me. Keep it how it is or explain why the hell Henry hates Jack so much and reveal my extensive back story which has been taking over my brain for the last couple of days including the strange nickname Starling and my preoccupation with that sword.)