And Taxes 4 - The Mad Fangirl

Title: Taxes 4 - D.H.W.P.

The title will be spelled out soon. It's a little bit of a spoiler.
See if you can guess ;).

Author: The Mad Fangirl - batya_93@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, savvy?

Rating: NC-17

Arrrrchive: Yes, please. If not this group's archive, tell me where.
Warnings: Hot guy-guy slashy action. (Was that a warning or a
promo? :) ) Anyway, men having graphic sex with other men. Also, for
those that avoid such things, there are het references. Nothing
graphic, though, and it's only to serve the greater good of the
slashy plot, I swear!

Feedback: You give feedback, I get inspired, I write more, you give
feedback to that, I get inspired�it's a feedback loop! ;)

Summary and Notes:

This is number 4 in the series that began with "And Taxes," in which
the present day incarnations of Jack and Will remember who they used
to be, and wind up with their past lives sharing space in their
heads.

If you haven't read the other three stories, you will be fairly
confused. You can find them at my aff.net author page:
http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=5576 . They are, in
order, "And Taxes," "Taxes 2 - Past Life Hangover," and "Repression,
Obsession, and Past Life Regression."

When last we saw our heroes, they had overcome a serious bit of angst
brought on by Turner's fears and Sparrow's bolting, (with help from a
shadowy background figure and an unscrupulous therapist,) and were
more in touch with themselves than ever - in Jack's case, literally.

Prepare to swing the other direction on the angst-ometer. This one's
a comedy-adventure, and nowhere near as heavy as Taxes 3. There are
occasional angsty bits, but mostly it's a romp. With some hot guy-guy
action, natch. And dismemberment. Gotta have a little dismemberment.
It isn't a party until there's some dismemberment. Plus a 70 % chance
of scattered foreshadowing.

And by the way...Monkey! I kid you not.
P.O.V.s this episode: Will, Will, Jack, Jack, Liz, Greg�and some
surprises ;).




Taxes 4 - D.H.W.P

* * *
Part 1: We Named the Ferret Hector
* * *

It began, as everything does, with getting up in the morning.

Specifically with Will Smith, absolutely no relation to the actor of
the same name, awakening from dreams of shooting sparks and ringing,
pounding metal, where he'd been making not swords, but wrought-iron
doorknobs. Hundreds and hundreds of doorknobs....

He shuddered.

//...Sorry...// said the voice of his prior life, Will Turner,
blacksmith and pirate. //...I really loathed the doorknobs, but they
paid the bills...//

//...'Sokay...// he thought back sleepily.  //...Hey, what's that?
Feels warm and fuzzy...//

//...Jack was never that warm, nor quite that fuzzy...//

//...You don't suppose he got a cat?...//

And on cue... "Wake up, Will. Got a solution to our squirrel problem."

"Mmm... wha... izzat where you went last night? Why'd you have to be so
sneaky if you were just gonna get a cat?"

"Open yer eyes, love. You'll see."

Sounding very Sparrow there. This was definitely going to be trouble.

And the long, lean, and very soft thing that was draping itself
across his ankles was definitely not a cat.

"Jack, that's not a cat."

"Nope." And Jack Byrd smiled his own unique smirk.

"Jack, what the hell *is* that?"

"Ferret."

"Ferret?"

"Ferret."

"Squeak," commented the ferret, who'd turned to sniff Will's calves,
tickling him with its whiskers. It really was adorable in a bizarre
way, Will thought consideringly, and tried to shut that thought down.
But then it looked at him with black button eyes, from a tan mask on
an otherwise black face and body.  "Squeak?"

"...You know ferrets are illegal in California."

"And your point is?" They watched the little beast's eyes close. "Ah,
Will, he *likes* you."

Will knew defeat when he tasted it, and sank back down into the
pillows. "So what are we going to call him? Squeak?"

"Nah. He's already got a name. It was Sparrow's pick, actually."

"So..."

"So we named the ferret Hector."

"Let me guess. Barbossa's first name."

"Got it in one."

"Huh. Guess a late revenge is better than none at all. Anyway, I sure
can't think of a better name for a weasel." Will looked at Hector.
Hector looked back. "So, where are we going to put his cage?"

"Cage?" Sad eyes that Will had ever fallen for. "I couldn't *cage*
him, love."

Will shook his head and wondered idly if Sparrow's love of freedom
would continue to triumph over Byrd's need to protect his furniture.
Probably. "I'll bet you aren't going to have him fixed, either."

"Oh, now, if he doesn't behave, I'm quite capable of making him a
eunuch."

"Squeak!"

"I think he heard that."

"That or you leaned on his tail."

"Oh. Sorry." //I'm apologizing to a ferret.//

//...and holding regular conversations with your past life is any
less strange?...//

//...can it, Turner...//

//...as you wish...// But the smirk in the thought-voice lingered.

The furry beast slinked its way up Will's side, then jumped to the
pine log headboard, finding a perch. Master of all it surveyed, it
blinked, and said, of course, "Squeak!"

"So. As it's time to get up," Byrd's voice flowed, quicksilver,
turned modern again, "coffee, breakfast, me? Not necessarily in that
order?"

"Oh, no, I agree," Will replied, voice sultry. "Definitely coffee
first."

"Whelp!"

"Squeak!"

* * *

While Jack set the coffee machine to whirring and grinding, Will
removed crepe batter he'd prepared over the weekend, heated a pan,
and poured. While he executed left-handed flips with the spatula, his
right hand sliced strawberries into precise eighth-inch sections.

Jack, observing his dexterity, asked, "Been practicing?"

"Part of it's just Turner's instincts coming back, but, yeah. I'm not
nearly up for three hours a day, but the corporate gym does have a
fencing setup."

"Wouldn't know. Not an employee, so no access." Jack paused and Will
waited for it. "I especially love the steam room."

"Knew it," Will said mildly, then grabbed whipped cream from the
fridge. He spread out the fixings and dug in. Jack eyed the whipped
cream speculatively and certain parts of Will could not help but
answer. Then Jack eyed Will speculatively, and it was all he could do
not to launch himself over the table, spilling strawberries to have
his once-captain instead.

Alas, his stomach growled in protest, ending the fantasy. Though, he
promised all of himself, it wouldn't remain a fantasy long if they
had any time at all. That was if what he had to confess over the
strawberry crepes didn't kill the mood entirely.

Jack, savvy as ever, downed one crepe and milk-laden coffee, and
said, "So, what's on your mind? And which you, anyhow?"


"Me. Smith, capital S. Sort of..."

"Go on," Jack said, gesturing with both hands.

Deep breath, tension mounting, utterly spoiled by a furry critter
winding about both their ankles as Hector nosed his way to a dish of
canned salmon. Time to out with it.

"I called my Dad last week."

The coffee mug came down just a little too hard. Jack's head cocked
and his eyes took on a far-off stare that belonged to neither self
entirely.  "By all the ocean's names, lad. With all that's happened,
I'd barely had time to think of it, and hardly dared t' ask ye." Back
to Byrd, with, "Your dad would kind of have to be Bootstrap Bill,
wouldn't he?"

"The way things have been going, heck yeah."

"So, you told him..." both hands moving again, the 'get on with it'
gesture.

"That I had a serious boyfriend, who I was practically living with.
He was really happy for me."

"I'm happy for you that he's happy for you, you know?" Jack's grin
was the particularly genuine version that made Will melt.

"Yeah. I know." Will paused. "He also said..."

"Yes?"

"That he had to come out to meet you. So he's coming to town." Will
gulped down his coffee. "Today."

Coffee spewed in an arc, and then Jack started coughing.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a few deep breaths. "I could have sworn
you just said..."

"Dad's coming to town to meet you today."

"And that was what I thought." Absently, Jack continued to eat
breakfast, though Will thought he came dangerously close to
swallowing his fork. The thousand-yard stare was definitely back.

Apologetically, Will shrugged. "I didn't want to give you too long to
think about it, considering what happened last time."

"Last time he bloody near took me head off!"

"Well, Dad wasn't all that stable for the first few years after he
got out of the water... and I mean you can imagine - first you find
out your best friend is alive, and then you find out your son is
alive, then you find out they're both right nearby, so you go to find
them..."

"And ye walk in to find your best friend soundly buttering your son
from behind. Aye. I suppose I can understand his frame of mind."
Accents switched. "That was kind of a shock to the system. Anyway, we
looked back on it and laughed, right?"

"Once the various cuts and gashes healed, sure." Will blinked at
Byrd. "So you are nervous."

"Hell yeah. I don't know that I've even met your father in this life,
but things have the weirdest way of repeating themselves... I mean,
Annie Mae's car..." Jack sighed. "Maybe you did the right thing. I
won't have time to work up a serious fit of nerves, and the Captain
won't have time to decide to help me out with a shot or ten." Jack's
eyes unfocused, then came back. "He's amused. Still wants massive
amounts of rum, now, but he's definitely amused." A smile. "He likes
it when you're sneaky."

Will felt inordinately pleased and returned the grin. "Well, at the
very least, this should make Thanksgiving v-"

"If you say 'very interesting,' I'm going to hit you, *savvy?*"

"Would now be a bad time to point out that dueling catch phrases
would be incredibly stupid?"

That was about when the whipped-cream laden strawberry hit him on the
nose.

"Of course, you know, this means war." His voice, gone to Turner for
an instant.

"All's fair..." Jack dodged the return volleys, which hit the wall
behind him. And oh, he *did* launch himself over the table, plates
skidding, to grab Will by the collar and kiss him soundly. Strawberry-
flavored fireworks obscured everything for an instant...

Just long enough for Jack to grab the whipped cream, shove the nozzle
down Will's boxers, and press.

"Ghaa!" Will stumbled back, stared. "You cheated..."

"Do I *really* have to say it?"

"Nah. But you're forgetting one very important thing..."

"That's *my* line..."

"Not when I've got the whipped cream."

Will jumped the chair between them, and while Jack was very fast,
Will had always been just a touch faster. Jack's hair got a very
unorthodox treatment, but Will sweetened the attack with a kiss that
pushed Jack against the kitchen counter.

"What a mess..." Jack murmured against Will's cheek. "However will we
clean it up?"

*Lick.* "How about..." *lick* "the old-fashioned..." *lick* "way..."

"Ahhh....well, we're both very..." *lick* "old-fashioned..."
*lick* "men...after all..."  Jack pushed back, sliding off of the
counter and pressing Will into a chair, which skidded with a thump
against the table. The boxers went off with a yank, and Will's hands
tightened on the armrests as a warm tongue cleaned his stomach,
moving gradually lower. His back arched, slightly, and he wondered
that he was still so much himself. Turner must have a case of the
guilts again...

//...come to me...// he essayed. //...come with us...//

//...did not wish to presume...// he heard, and then the wave of
desire, //...but oh, *yes*...//

"Oh, *yes,*" they vocalized, one or the other, and now it mattered
not. Moist heat that was Jack sliding, licking, humming...was he
humming *that* song? Of course he was... and Jack was reaching 'round
his back again, and his tongue was low enough to siphon whipped cream
from below... God oh god oh... yes... Jack... "Yes... don't stop..."
And oh, he did not, and there was more suction, and Jack was rubbing
tiny circles on his lower back, tiny distracting oh so warm and
welcoming and not that distracting after... all... hips pulled away
from the chair and the hands tightened on his back and he tightened
too and GOD he was they were going to...

"Yes...Jack..."

Will slumped back into the chair, eyes opening heavy-lidded to see
Jack, reclining on the floor with a grin. "That's about the best I
can manage," Jack said, "but then I'm only one man... sort of..."

"As am I," Will murmured, "sort of..." But both halves of him, old
and new, were of an accord as they knelt between Jack's legs, pulling
his own shorts down, then off. The area revealed, however, was
perhaps the one clean spot on Jack's body. "Hmm. Not at all fair..."
Will kicked the table and caught the whipped cream can as it fell
behind his back.

"Showoff."

"Says *you?*" With that, Will filled his hands with sweet foam and
applied it to the area in question. Slow, tight strokes... he had the
satisfaction of seeing Jack's mast, already full and stiff, rise to
its height. Nothing to do now but clean it... he began below and
worked up, methodically, frustratingly slow... or at least, that was
how he'd meant it to be. Instead, Jack sighed, eyes closing, and he
began to pant, so Will continued just exactly what he was doing with
his tongue... oh, interesting... Jack panted harder, louder, great
gasps, and Will kept on until they became inarticulate groans and
Jack shook all over and spilled himself completely, helplessly. Will,
meanwhile, found all himself delighted to add a trick to two
lifetimes of repertoire.

"Oh, *my,*" Jack said eventually, stretching. "Is it me, or was that
thing with your tongue utterly out of the blue?"

"The best things can be. You were, after all." Will placed his hands
on Jack's thighs, preparing to lever himself forward for a kiss. Then
a horn honked, and his head very nearly impacted with the tabletop.

Jack, meanwhile, jumped back three feet and up in half a second.
"Crap, crap, crap! What time is it!? Don't answer that...oh, hell..."

"Annie Mae?"

"Oh, she's going to *kill* me..."

"Run for the shower! I'll stall her! Go, go, go!"

Jack took off for the bathroom and Will, mind reeling and thinking
that this really ought to be the other way around as the half of this
relationship made to tell tall tales and generate excuses really was
*not* him, left to sacrifice himself on the altar of Jack's carpool.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, a sleek black-furred varmint disdained the
scattered strawberries and whipped cream to lick crepe batter from
the bowl on the counter.


* * *
Part 2: Starbuccaneers
* * * 

A few hours later, across the street from a chromed high-rise that
bore the legend "Royal Inc.," a man blinked in the light of
California's Indian summer.  He worked his jaw to clear his ears as
he was fairly certain one hadn't yet popped. Yawned... there. Much
better. He yawned again, and there before him was the mermaid that
had ever been his savior. Ah, Starbucks.

A woman smiled at him as she let him in the door, and he returned the
grin. His hair might be graying a bit at the temples, but he'd still
got it. And there wasn't anything about a midlife crisis in that
thought, oh, no. Smile turned somewhat sheepish, he ordered a large
mocha and let them layer on the whipped cream.  Leaning against the
counter where the finished drinks arrived, he craned his neck around,
looking for a seat. To his surprise, the place was full, but then an
arm raised, waving him over.

Had his son come by on a coffee run? Grabbing his mocha, he wandered
over, finding instead that the raised arm belonged to a tall, brown-
haired stranger.  He sat at the table with an even taller man, who
looked related.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"Nah," the tall man replied. That one word, plus the striped shirt
and the hat resting on the one empty chair... speculations were
confirmed when the man continued, "Just thought it'd be neighborly -
we had the extra seat and all. Plus, we're from outta town, and we
needed to fill a couple of hours 'fore we meet up with someone." That
was Texas in the man's voice, or he'd eat that hat and the one
sitting beneath it.

"Wish I could help, but I'm in almost exactly the same spot. Just got
in from Boston this morning."

"Dallas / Fort Worth. Bet you never woulda guessed." The taller man
this time, with an easy smile. The newcomer extended his hand to each
of them in turn.

"William Smith, Sr. Call me Bill, everyone does."

"You got it, Bill." Hand grasped in a grip that was firm but not
overbearing. "I'm James Montgomery Norton, Monty to most folk."
Indicating the other, he said, "My little brother, James Brandon."

"J.B.," the slightly taller Texan advised. "So, what brings you t'
the left coast, Bill?"

Bill took a long sip of coffee, and then a deep breath. "Well, I
think my son's in love."

"Well, damn. 'S love that's hauled us out here too," said Monty.
"Little Jimmy - he's the baby in the family - went and got himself
engaged last month. Dad couldn't come and Mom couldn't come, so they
put us both on a plane to come see if the girl's suitable." He
leaned forward. "Think they're afraid she's some kind of blueblood
snob."

J.B. snorted. "Little Jimmy's got more sense."

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but we gotta tell 'em we made
the effort. Plus, hell, it's a damn sight less humid here and the
mosquito ain't the state bird this time of year, so why not?"

"That's our story," J.B. continued. "So, you met the lady yet?"

Bill tensed. These cowboys seemed decent, but you never knew when
you'd have to hit someone after you confessed, "Not a lady. Will's
found himself a man."

Monty whistled, and J. B. smirked. "Got it. I remember when Cousin
Alex told us the same thing. Dad said that explained why he'd never
joined the service, and then said those of us that had would be happy
to kick the asses of anyone who gave him any crap about it."

"We did, too." Monty considered. "Wonder if that jackass stopped
runnin' yet?"

"'Nother words," J.B. confided, "Ain't all cowboys backwards. Some of
us even think Toby Keith's a flag-wavin' self-righteous..."

"Hey, you watch it..."

"All right, I'll shut up about Toby. Sheesh."

Bill blinked. "Toby who?"

"...Never mind. Hey," J.B. advised, "I'm off t' get me another one of
those venti caramel macchiatos. Y'all good?"

His brother shook his head. "Y'all are gonna be bouncin' off the
walls."

"I'm good," Bill said. Idly, his eyes tracked J.B. as he navigated to
the counter, only to have two new arrivals step through the door and
into his line of sight. One was bulky, all circles, his head either
bald or shaven. The other was lean, attenuated, with blonde hair
gelled into spikes. As he entered the room, one side of his
wraparound shades cleared, but the other stayed dark. The visible eye
met Bill's.

Bill felt it as a squeezing feeling in his chest, and was aware of
thinking... //Oh, no... Oh, not again... I thought I was *over*
these...//

Panic attack. It was going to be a bad one. For some reason, he kept
his hold on the stranger's eye, or vice versa, as he grabbed hold of
the table. This was bad, but it was going to get worse... next came
the feeling he loathed beyond all else... the feeling that he was
drowning... Just hold on. Hold on to the table and try not to fall
over when you pass... out....

//drowning... drowning forever and not ever drowned oh my jealous
mistress for you I left my wife and babe let me see them again just
once more and I'll feed you the blood of those men as my vengeance or
live as my vengeance or die in your arms as he kills them he will oh
my love let me go let me go let me GO//

"...BILL! Bill!"

Someone was shaking him...someone...Monty. That was his name. "Oof.
Sorry about that." He rubbed the side of his face. At least he hadn't
fallen over, just had his head land heavily on his arm. No big deal.

"You all right? Looked like y' stopped breathin' for a second there -
scared the hell outta me."

"Just a panic attack. I used to get them all the time, but I thought
I was over it." A shaky smile. "Maybe some kind of delayed reaction
from the flight. I don't know."

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. I've just got to sit here a second."

"Look," J.B., from behind him, "you just let us know if there's
anything you need, okay?"

"Thanks. I mean it," Bill replied, distracted, looking for the blonde
man, but not finding him, and then forgetting by and by why he'd
thought him of any importance.

* * *

Joey Pintoli, late of Staten Island, lifted his triple-shot espresso
off the bar, then grabbed Robbie's huge frozen whipped whatsit with a
sigh. Years of running together, and he never had been able to get
the limey to drink coffee like a man. Oh well, least he had good
taste in beer.

Bringing the drinks to their outside table, he said, "Hey. Robbie.
Got your girlie drink."

"Girlie drink? Y'can shove it, mate."

"Not in public, sweetie."

"Sweetie? Fuck you very much, too."

"Would you stop that?"

"Stop that? Stop what?"

"See? It's like there's a freakin' echo in here."

"In here? In whe-" Robbie must have seen his eyes narrowing.
"Awright. That one was on purpose."

"You're an asshole."

"I'm an asshole what's making you rich, mate."

"Maybe." Joey tipped back his espresso, finishing half of it in one
gulp. Then he looked across the street to the silver high-rise. "So
we gonna do this thing? We on?"

"Oh, yeah, mate. We're on."

* * *

*Ripple*

*Snap!*

Liz shook herself out of the daydream, a flashback to the morning's
waking. It had been the rippling Jolly Roger again, another warning.
Quick calls to Jack and Will had found them on their respective ways
to the office, and perfectly fine. But then, she, and especially
Elizabeth, would know if they caused the disturbance in the force.

A murmur from Elizabeth, //...want to see that movie again... has
certain parallels, don't you think?...//

A pirate, a princess, the heir to a dubious legacy...Liz smiled and
felt the answering warmth within, chasing away the chill. Still,
dreaming Elizabeth's old dreams meant something that should not be
ignored. The problem being that it was difficult not to ignore
something until you'd figured out at least a hint of what it bloody
well was.

Elizabeth was the echo of her frustration, though she
continued, //...still, can't quite figure out... would Barbossa be
Darth Vader or Jabba the Hutt?...//

Liz snorted in laughter, coming within an inch of spraying coffee
onto a stack of new letterhead. The mailroom girl looked up from her
cart with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry. Just thought of something funny. I ever tell you the one
about the pirate that..."

"Steering wheel? Yeah. Twice." She snickered. "Arr. It's funnier when
you tell it with the English accent, for some reason. I think jokes
are just funnier with an accent in general." She grabbed a FedEx
envelope, and the cart moved on.

Liz frowned thoughtfully. She hadn't recalled Elizabeth telling the
joke, and Elizabeth mirrored her surprise with a murmured apology and
just a ripple of worry.

//...okay, it's okay... we're not gonna have a meltdown like the
boys...//

Light tickling relief. //...I know, I suppose... we shall reach an
accommodation in our own way and in our own time, as ever...//

//...as ever,...// Liz echoed, and smiled slightly. Leafing through
marketing collateral, she felt that warmth again, an internal hug. As
she put down the brochures, two reminders popped up on her screen.
One was for the upcoming safety drill, which she was going to skip,
since she had it on good authority that the head of security wouldn't
be there, and the other...Damn, that was today, wasn't it? Dinner
with Greg and his brothers, whom she'd never met.

//...they'll love me. us....//

//...of course they will...//

Maybe she'd show up early, at lunch? No, better to let Greg have that
time with them first, and then they could-

The lights flickered and her monitor blinked twice.

Liz made a mental note to talk to her father - he really needed to
kick some ass down in Facilities...

* * *

Down in Facilities...

A small black device, placed there sometime in the recent past,
blinked with green and yellow lights. It looked like it belonged. It
really didn't.

* * *

"Am I missin' anything, sir?"

Greg Norton, Royal Inc.'s head of security, shuffled papers and
diagrams within a folder, while Warren Swan, C.E.O., sipped coffee.

"Don't think so," Swan said, thoughtfully, although he looked to Greg
like he had something he wanted to add, but didn't. "How do we look
for the safety drill?"

"Well, besides all the movement being a security nightmare, not bad.
I'm sitting this one out - I want to see how well the staff does
without me lookin' over their shoulder. Gave check sheets to fifteen
random employees; they'll get an extra $50 for fillin' 'em out."

"So I guess the next official item is Brown in Manufacturing. You
sure about him?"

"Hate to say it, but yeah. Had the I.T. guys peek in on his machine.
Guy's playing the Vegas slots from his desk. I think he's got a
problem."

"Damn." Swan rubbed his forehead. "If I fired Brown, I could move
Will up the ladder, and God knows he deserves it, but Brown's been
with us for years. I don't want it to look like I'm getting rid of
the folks that got us here in the first place. But that's my
headache." He looked up and smiled. "Speaking of headaches, your
family in town yet?"

"Shoulda got here this morning. Look, thanks again for not pushing
about coming with tonight. I just - y'know, I want 'em to meet Liz
without having to think about my boss bein' around. I know they're
just gonna love her," and here he was very conscious of the fact that
they were discussing this man's daughter, "but I want an honest read
on what they're thinkin'."

"Look," Swan said, "I understand. We're going to be family, and
there's no need to push. Sounds like the right choice, right
reasons." From Swan, this was one of the highest complements, and
Greg took it as such. "No need to do anything before we're ready."

* *  *

"We ready?"

"Our man says he stuck the tech underneath a table in their
Facilities department two weeks ago. It's been causing random
interference, but it hardly needs to."  Robbie stretched, gun now
held loosely in his right hand. "'Parently, Facilities is
understaffed. The building's been having issues fer months. Oh, and
the elevator mikes and cameras have been out for two days. They're
getting fixed tomorrow, though."  He grinned. "Was gonna be
yesterday. I called and rescheduled. People are way too trusting."

Joey watched as Robbie dropped the gun into a silver equipment case.
The other man was dressed like any slightly upscale engineer. That
fit Robbie to a tee, though - geek with a gun, handling the tech and
intel. They both got in on the planning, and Joey was good with the
extra help, if he did say so himself.

"Anyhow," Robbie continued, "I just have to press this button..." he
held up a small, blinking black box, "and no cell phone in that
building's gonna work. Place has horrible reception anyway;
practically a dead zone."

"Land lines?"

A snort. "Please. And they're used to the safety drill alarms
screwing the phones already. But the best thing about the little
black box is that it's gonna override all the doors. Now, I can't get
into the high security code locks, but the building's gonna be locked
down to everybody without one of these." He held up a bunch of badges
on cords, hanging one around his neck. "Can't lock off the top three
floors from each other, either, but it doesn't matter, as that's
where we need to be."

"Right. So, irregardless- "

"Irregardless?" Robbie frowned. "Isn't that kinda redundant?"

"Says you, mister repetitive?" Joey snorted. "You come over here,
I'll give ya redundant. Right in the..."

"Not now, honey, we've got guests."

"Swear to God I'm gonna knock you inta next week...next week."
Pintoli looked at the small team inside the van, all dressed to blend
in maintenance uniforms or mediocre suits. His suit was better, but
somebody had to have some style.  "All right. Remember, Team 1 goes
with Robbie to Manufacturing, Team 2's with me. We'll meet up at the
exec suites. Got a nice Italian Job exit planned, but if for any
reason we don't meet up, we don't know you, we never met you. Keep
your mouth shut and you got a nice chunk of change when you get out.
Don't, and ain't nowhere my family can't find you."

There were reasons he handled the help, after all.



* * *
Part 3: Sacked
* * *

Will climbed the stairs from his floor to that which held Marketing,
and Liz, ostensibly to ask her a question about timing on a product
launch, and possibly to accidentally-on-purpose run into a certain
member of the government accounting team. As he left the stairwell,
though, he heard a certain voice cry out, a mournful sound seemingly
ripped from the depths of his soul.

"But *why's* the coffee gone!?"

"Because someone drank the last cup and didn't refill the pot. Now
get off your lazy butt and do it yourself, Jack, 'cause your maid
doesn't work here."

Annie Mae, of course. And Will could be the decent sort and show Jack
how to change the filter-pack, but he thought it might be more fun to
see how far gone Jack was, and whether he'd try to wheedle someone
else into it, or figure it out himself.

Rip... click... hiss... Jack had taken the three seconds to apply his
mind to the problem. He must be badly off. Will considered turning
around. Jack on a caffeine low was an unpredictable and somewhat
frightening thing...and generally horny as all hell.

At that thought, Will felt his feet carry him forward. Oh well, he
knew what he was getting into - as much as he ever did where Jack was
concerned.

He found Jack at the coffee nook, staring at his cup and at the
brewing urn, back and forth, back and forth... swaying, finding a
rhythm, and snatch! The mug substituted for the urn, catching a
cupful, the urn back in place, and not a drop lost.

Will whistled low and Jack turned, sketching a bow. He then upended
the mug and drained it, and repeated the trick, all in under a
minute. Will stared. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annie Mae
do the same.

"Jack," the woman said, "you need help."

They both watched Jack shiver, a progressive wave, toes to
fingertips, eyes sliding shut in a blissful sigh and then opening
wide as the caffeine kicked in. Will tried to keep a responding flush
of desire in check - Jack had just shivered *and* sighed, after all.
He was partially successful.

"I don't know," Jack said, "I seem to have figured this thing out on
my own... which reminds me. Will!"

"Yes..." Will replied slowly, carefully. Something was afoot.

"Come here. There's something I want to show you."

If *that* wasn't a loaded sentence... he bit back the obvious reply,
("I've seen it,") since they were supposed to be keeping things under
wraps. Technically. Will let Jack grab his arm and pull him down the
hall. "I'm close," Jack murmured. "I think the data we just found is
going to be very illuminating. There's something going on here, but
if I'm right, Swan's going to thank us..."

Will noticed that they passed the conference room and headed in the
next door. He'd worked here for years, so he knew... "Jack, this is
the janitor's clos-ulp!" For Jack had grabbed his arm, pulled him in,
and shut the door.

"Jack, are you sure - "

Something slid between the door and the knob, jamming it shut.

Will gulped, then breathed in sharp as Jack nuzzled at his neck.

"Mm-hm," Jack hummed against him. "I've been wanting to do this all
week."

"Jack, we're at work."

Nibble, stroke... "Mm-hm."

"There's a safety drill..."

"Which you'd," pet, squeeze, "already decided to skip - you told me."

"Oh," sigh, "yeah, but I have to get back to work..."

"You'll be back before you know it," Jack replied, voice gone low and
seductive. "Sparrow once bet Turner he could make him come screaming
in under a minute. Do you remember?"

"No," Will lied, rock hard.

"Well, I think you may." Slow kiss to his neck. "But be that as it
may, I've remembered *how* he did it."

Will's eyes widened. He was in trouble.... His pants were suddenly
open and shoved down. "Mm. What have we here, eh?" Jack crouched
against the wall and pulled Will tight against him, nearly into his
lap. Then his left hand began to run lightly up and down Will's
jutting length. Will craned his neck up and back as his eyes rolled
shut. He sighed. Then his breath caught as Jack's other hand rubbed
circles in the skin behind and below his manhood, hard and chafing.
Will twitched and began shaking slightly. Left hand tightened, sped
up, and Will tried to swing into it, but the right hand moved,
pinched hard right at the junction of his leg... held...

An instant of pain, and then the strongest building pressure, filling
his mind... his world... "aaaahh.... aAhhhhh... mmmph...." He was losing
all control... there was something soft in his mouth and he swore he
heard bells.

A low whispered growl. "Scream. My. Name."

Jack let go.

"MMMMPPHH! MMMMMMPH!"

"That'll do."

Will sagged against Jack, feeling like cooked pasta, but very, very
satisfied cooked pasta.

Maybe his brain wasn't quite working again yet.

He spat out what turned out to be a wrapped roll of paper towels, now
with deep bite marks. "You know, now that you mention it, I think
something does come to mind."

"And as I did me best t' catch your gifts, love, I hope ye won't mind
having come..." Will could *hear* the Sparrow smirk in Jack's voice.
Another paper towel hit the floor, and Will kicked it into the
corner. Jack spun him and kissed him long on the mouth while
simultaneously zipping Will's pants and tucking in his shirt. Will
noticed that the bells were still ringing.

"Oh, right. The safety drill." He took a deep breath. "I knew that."

"And I guess you've got to have some good excuse for missing it."
Jack shoved Will outside, with only that grin and a murmur, "Time to
get to work."

* * *

"Okay, boys. Time to get to work."

Robbie, Joey, and their crew slid out of the van, some going left,
some right. They mingled with the mass of humanity exiting the
building, who would, Joey assumed, eventually form up into assigned
groups. So would his teams, as soon as they were inside, but for now
he ambled along next to Robbie.

Said Londoner was holding the black box remote, ready to hit it when
the building looked sufficiently clear. Not too clear, just empty
enough for their purposes. Joey gave the box a glance.

"What do the blinking lights mean, anyway?"

"Absolutely nothing, mate, that's the beauty of it." Joey just looked
at him and watched him roll his eye. "All right, look. This box
blinks because the mother unit blinks. Forgive me for wanting
symmetry, as I'm lacking it." Joey cast a glance heavenward as Robbie
continued, "The big box blinks so people think it's doing something
it's supposed to. You see a black box appear, you get suspicious.
Give it pretty lights, people relax."

"Okay. Remind me never to ask you how your mind works."

"'S enough that it works, right? We both could've been born stupid,
you know. There but for the grace of God, et cetera."

A kind man, exiting, held the door open for the two. Joey Pintoli
looked up the otherwise empty stairwell ahead, then back at the
closed door. "What a bunch of chumps." He turned back. "You were
pretty good at eyeballing it in Munich and Rio. You think that crowd
out there's cleared this place out enough?"

"Eyeballing, he says. I'll look past that, since we're working. Yeah,
I'd say we're probably good."

"Okay. Lock it down."

* * *

Will left the janitor's closet, stumbling just a little; Jack slipped
back into his team's office a few seconds later. The bells rang on,
and then...

The lights flared; one of them blew out. Then the power died entirely
for five seconds, coming back with the yellower emergency lighting. A
stream of curses, not all in English, and most not from this century,
issued from Jack's converted conference room. Will turned and
wandered back to find Jack alternately raising his fists and dropping
them, while facing his laptop. Which, like Annie Mae and Josh's
computers, just happened to be smoking slightly.

"Whoever's responsible for this is going to die, slowly."

"Jack?"

"I was so *close!* I was so...aaah!" Eyes wide and almost rolling, he
rounded on Will, reminding him very much of Sparrow in one of his
rare sober snits. "It's going to take me weeks to recreate that data,
if I'm lucky! Maybe months! And that's with Annie Mae and Josh
getting lucky too. Again! *Damn* it! There's something... some*one*..."
He looked around, seemed to sense eyes on him, hushed just a bit.

Will stepped forward, laid an arm about Jack's shoulders, all
slumped.  "You back it up to the home office, right?"

"Yeah, but we were on such a roll the last few days, and the next
backup wasn't 'till tomorrow. We were finding connection after
connection - I almost had a name..."

A name. A person, rather than corporate negligence or company-wide
malfeasance, causing Royal Inc.'s issues with the IRS. Jack couldn't
tell Will in so many words, but the two had never needed quite so
many words as most.

"Completely obsessed with treasure," Will murmured, coaxing out a
smile. "On the other hand, this gives you an excuse to stay one floor
away from me for the next how long? You know, I've a janitor's closet
on my floor, as well."

Jack sighed. "Not all treasure's silver and gold, eh?"

"I wasn't going to say it."

"Goes without saying, love."

They remained thus, Will with his arms about Jack's shoulders in an
attitude of comfort, when they heard Josh's low, sustained swearing
and Annie Mae's shriek.

"And you said I was being paranoid," Josh said, at length.

"Your horoscope said you'd suffer a professional setback. It didn't
say you could do anything about it," Annie Mae replied. "Anyway,
those things are so general they could apply to anyone."

"Applied to three out of four of us in this room today, didn't it?"

"Well, you're the same sign as Norton in Security, so until the same
thing happens to him, I'm..."

A noise in the distance, and they all went very quiet.

At length, Jack said, "Was that a gunshot?"

* * *

Liz jogged down the back stairs to Manufacturing, looking for Will.
The email to his department about the upcoming launch hadn't been all
that clear, and she knew he'd have questions. The emergency lights
were low, but she'd been running around the building since Royal Inc.
moved in.

In general, Liz was prepared for a great many things. She was not,
however, prepared to see a skinny blonde in sunglasses holding a gun
on Will's boss. She froze.

//...oh, bollocks...//

Elizabeth was absolutely right, there.

"...open the code locks to bay 89, and you might just get through
this all right."

An English accent, but the wrong English accent. Liz stared, and
Elizabeth scoured hazy memories.

A much duller voice, dumbly repeating...

//...poppet...//

Oh. HELL.

"I can't get you the prototypes. I couldn't even unlock that door if
I wanted to. It's on a timer."

"Which isn't working with the emergency power on, god bless Joel
Silver and Alan Rickman for the idea. But you did lie to me, so..."

The gun went off, and Brown staggered against a desk. Blood dripped
from his thigh.

Then, damn it all to hell, the blonde noticed her.

"Well, well, well, luv. You don't belong here. I know you. You're the
boss's daughter."

One eye shaded, though the other lens was clear. Somehow, in some
incredibly twisted, screwed up way, it was ... what the hell was his
name....

//...Ragetti. The one-eyed man was Ragetti...//

And calling herself Liz Turner wasn't going to work this time.

//...because it worked so well before?...//

"Yes... please, don't hurt me..."

She hadn't played scared before. Could work.

"'Course not, luv, if you don't make me. My, but you look like
trouble. Sound scared, but you're steady as a rock. Well, now, go
over to that lock, and we'll have Mr. Brown here call out the code,
unless he wants the next shot somewhere even less pleasant."

The manufacturing director looked up at her, eyes pain-filled.

"It's okay. I'll fix it with Dad. It's not worth your life, John."

"Thanks, kiddo," he gasped out. "I'd kinda figured that one out on my
own. Oh, shit, this hurts..."

The present pirate waved her over with his gun. //Manufacturing's
almost deserted... they planned this.//

"Go on, then..."

"Three... one... four..." He took a deep breath. "One... five... nine."

"Pi to five decimals?!" The thin man shook his head. "I didn't need
to shoot you for that! What kind of secret code is Pi to five
decimals?"

"Well, you didn't guess it, did you?" Liz pointed out, as the locker
swung open.

"Oh, I was right. You are trouble." He grinned. "Come on, now, luv,
hand it over."

Liz pulled out the first shiny bit of technology, small enough to
hold in the palm of her hand. She walked halfway to the man, and
paused.

//What the hell.//

"Parlay?" she asked.

His true eye glassed over. "Huh. Now why does that sound so
familiar... Aaah!" She tossed the fragile item to him, and as he
dropped his gun to catch it, she turned and ran back the way she came.

* * *

Robbie groaned inwardly, then shouted, "Oi! Rick! Get in here!"

"Hey, boss. Thought you had it covered."

"I did. Ran into a strangely familiar bit of trouble. Boss's
daughter."

"That's good, right? Bring her upstairs for leverage on the old man?"

"Yeah, but she got away for now. Trouble, like I said."

"Well, you locked the place down, right?" said another thug,
following on Rick's heels.

"Yeah, I did. She's not going anywhere... but get moving and start in
on your sweeps. If we can get her soon, so much the better."

The second thug opened his mouth, but Rick silenced him with a hand
and walked out the far door. "Listen, Brady, watch it. This is the
kind of boss who shoots you if you question him one time too many.
And don't ask me how many times that is."

"Yeah, well, I heard he shot a man for saying he wears women's
underwear. Even though he does."

*Click*

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't. But my preferences are not for public
consumption, nor are they any of your business. Got it?"

The thug's eyes widened. "Ah... yessir!"

"Good." Robbie waved them out with his gun, then turned to stow the
first prototype in his silver case.  "California talent," he
muttered. "Bunch of bloody slackers. Eddie Izzard wears women's
clothes and everyone thinks he's a bloody genius, but god forbid..."

And where the hell had he heard 'parlay' before, anyway?

"Be a good name for a band, though, wouldn't it?" he murmured to
himself as he walked out the door, stepping over the unconscious Mr.
Brown on his way.

* * *

When Jack tried the elevator, he found that it was stuck. When he
headed for the stairs, he backed straight up, arms raised, as a man
with a gun motioned him forward. He found himself herded back into
his glass-front office, along with Will, who'd ventured the other
direction. The man with the gun indicated that he go inside, and so
he did, Will following.

"Jack?" Annie Mae asked, eyes wide. "What the hell's going on?"

"They're robbing the place," Will murmured.

"How do you..."

"Ssh. I'm reading their lips."

Now there was a useful skill. Had the boy *always* had that talent?
It would certainly explain a few things.

"That figures," Will said. "Manufacturing for our prototypes and the
exec suites for the product specs and negotiable securities. They're
collecting the stragglers in conference rooms now."

Josh took heavy breaths. "Are they going to kill us?"

"Too soon to tell," Will replied, then, "Damn. They moved."

"It's them that should start worrying," Jack said slowly,
dangerously. "These punks toasted our computers."

Annie Mae stared at him. "Jack, are you completely insane?"

"It's been suggested," he replied, eyes narrowing for a second, then
going wide, scared, and innocent as one of their guards looked their
way.  "Will, can you come over here for a second? I need to talk to
you, privately."

As they moved slightly away, Annie just stared. Josh squeezed her
hand and murmured, "If anyone can get us out of this in one piece,
it's Jack. I told you about all the crap we got up to in college."

"Yeah," Annie said, "but this is goddamn Die Hard, and it's a pretty
far cry from making the dean's office disappear."

Jack heard this, but focused on his William. "Will, I'm thinking a
change is in order."

"You mean-"

"I'm going to let the Captain out to play. This is way more his kind
of show. And if anyone deserves it, these assholes do." He watched
Will take a breath and nod, and then waited no longer.

They were really of one mind, and so as Byrd closed his eyes and
reached back, he felt Sparrow surging forth to meet him. A very quick
sense of question and affirmative response, and then the flooding,
intoxicating presence, filling him and washing him back. It was
always thus, becoming fully Jack Sparrow. A dizzying spin and the
world shifted, tilted off its axis, and then realigned, *different.*
Though still fairly skewed.

Captain Jack Sparrow opened his eyes and felt a very odd sensation,
an unpleasant dragging feeling like being far too long without rum,
which he had been, but it wasn't that. It led outside himself and,
yes, to Will, who was squinting, wincing slightly. Then a relief of
pressure, a release, and Jack knew.

"It's me own Will, isn't it?" he murmured in the other's ear.

"Aye. Smith has a theory - I'll fill you in later. He felt that...
pull, and he pushed me forth. He says it's all right, and I did
swear to trust him."

"Right. So... Opportune moments."

"Nothing stupid," Will replied.

Jack sighed. "Speaking of stupid, I think I'm about to..." His gaze
raked the conference room, and the two scared auditors that shared it
with him, also murmuring to one another. "That lot - I love 'em as
Byrd does, which is dearly, but for this we don't need accountants.
We need bloody pirates. There's no putting it off any longer."

"Are you saying you know how to wake them?"

"Aye. Well, one of them. For Gibbs, I've no clue. But I know how to
wake Anamaria. Figured it out days ago. It's foolproof."

"Why haven't you?" Will asked quietly.

"Didn't know that I had the right. This is an odd existence, and
while none of us that have it would trade it, I didn't think it fair
t' make that decision for others." He met Will's eyes. "Does that
surprise ye?"

Will smiled. "Surprise? No. Impress, yes."

"Well, don't be too impressed," Jack sighed. "I also put it off as I
knew it'd hurt. Possibly a lot." He saw Will's eyes widen in
realization, and then he stood and called out, "Annie Mae?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Annie, could you come here? There's something I've got to ask you to
do."

She scooted away from Josh, giving his had a quick squeeze. Then she
was before him.

"Annie Mae, I know there's something you've always wanted to do,
almost since the day you met me. I'm going to tell you it's okay. I
want you to haul back and hit me as hard as you can."

Annie Mae's face softened as she looked into Jack's eyes. "Oh, Jack,
honey, it's all right. We're gonna get out of this. We're not gonna
die."

"I know," He smiled, one of Byrd's as his were nearly all too
sharp. "Still. Humor me, as I owe you." Slipping a little, there, but
it caught her attention, and he held her eyes urgently. "It's all
right."

Arm shaking just a bit, Annie Mae raised back her hand for an open-
handed slap. Then, flying forward...

*OH,* by all that was holy, that hurt...

*AH!* Her other arm connected, and then a third stinging slap, and
his head was ringing so, oh bloody *hell*... He reached up to grab
the wrists of the hellcat who struggled, screeching...

"Jack! Jack ye bloody bastard! Me boat! Me car! Ye did it to me
again! Ye bloody well did it to me again ye twisted, twisting little
reprobate! I swear by th' Holy Mother that if we come 'round again
with spaceships, ye aren't gettin' near mine!"

Josh made his way over to Will and murmured, "I think Annie just
snapped."

"Ye owe me," Anamaria continued, "Ye OWE me? Ye're bloody right ye
owe me! Jack! MEN!" She gave an inarticulate growl, shook him off,
and then stopped cold, eyes going wide with realization and just a
bit of wonder.

"You okay, Annie?" Gibson asked.

"Y-yeah. I... I'm okay... *Josh*..." She stared at him, and then Jack
watched her eyes track the room, covering everyone including the now
lone guard outside who watched, snickering. Obviously, he assumed
that Jack had asked the logical question of an attractive co-worker
in this situation, or at least, the one that would have gotten him
slapped.

"So now what... Jack?" And now would definitely be a poor time to
insist upon his title, as poor Josh...

"Well, have ye any ideas in that direction?" He jerked his head
towards their colleague.

"I'm sitting right here, you know," Gibson grumbled.

Anamaria scowled, her habitual expression, but a bit of deviltry
surfaced in her eyes. "Y'know, it isn't always about you, Jack.
Y'leave Gibbs to me." With that, she grabbed Josh's tie with one hand
and yanked him forward, kissing him long and hard on the mouth. The
other hand threaded through his hair and yanked nearly hard enough to
remove the handful.

"Aah! Lass!" he sputtered. "Are ye trying t' kill me!? I've told ye
it's the most horrid luck to kiss a man and pull his hair..."

"Not if the lass is married, Mr. Gibbs," Anamaria said, smiling
openly now.

"But ye're not... Oh, wait, ye... you... are... oh my God."

"Aye, Gibbs, married and with babes," she said, a very odd note in
her voice. Jack realized he'd never heard tenderness from Anamaria.
It was just a little bit frightening.

"Oh my God," Gibbs...Gibson said again. "What the hell - Jack, how
long has this been going on?"

"Month or so, give or take. Although it's been a bit more taking than
giving, naturally," Jack grinned.

"Lookin' back, I reckon I could see it a bit, when there came
something both strange and familiar over ye. Over ye both, I suspect.
That is you, young Mr. Turner, isn't it?"

"Aye, Mr. Gibbs," Will replied.

"Well. And...well." Gibbs looked at the guard who was watching,
fascinated, a silent, private soap opera. "Hm. Well, captain, we're
under guard, held in a glass-front cage by a man with a gun, with who
knows how many friends likewise armed, even if we did escape 'im.
What do we do now?"

"Aye, Jack," Anamaria echoed. "What now?"

"Well, now," Jack said, looking to Will and then back, face
alight, "We fuck their shit up, savvy?"

Equally fierce smiles answered him, and then faded.

"Ah, Cap'n, how exactly are we t' do that?"

"...I'll come to it presently."

Gibbs smacked his hand to his forehead and then rolled his eyes, and
Anamaria muttered, "I knew it. He's got no clue, as usual."

"Oh ye of little faith. You believe in me, Will?"

"Of course, my captain. I do, though, have even more faith that my
guardian angel will sneak up behind the guard and hit him with
something very heavy."

Jack shot him an incredulous, wounded look, which he held until he
heard the thunk.

"Oh ye of little faith," Will said, smiling. There lay an unconscious
gunman, and there stood Liz with a heavy, blunt instrument.  When
they opened the door, she eyed them all critically.

"You all just went pirate on me, didn't you?"

A rolling series of shrugs began and ended with Jack.

"I guess I don't blame you. But you're stuck with Liz. I know this
place better, and besides," she smirked, "Elizabeth got to do this
kind of shit all the time. It's not fair."

"Ye're as daft as he is," Anamaria said, not without some fondness.

"I still take that as a compliment," Liz replied.  She looked up and
down the hall. "Look, they're on some kind of patrol schedule. We
haven't got a lot of time. I think..."

"They're robbing the place," Will replied. "They're after..."

"The newest prototypes in Manufacturing - I know. And they wanted me
to..."

"Get your dad to open up the executive safes. But if they can't find
you, they'll..."

"Go straight to my Dad - oh, shit. Dad. I've got to get up there. If
I even can - I can't go more than one more floor down; I tried.
Still, it ought to be hard as hell to separate the top three floors
from each other. Especially since Dad never read the Evil Overlord
List."

"Oh, right, the crawlspace under the floors. We're each going to have
to lead a group, then... I'll-"

"Ahem," Jack said. They both turned, neither looking the slightest
bit guilty for leaving him out of the fun.

"Oh, sorry..."

"Just wanted t' point out that I, or rather Byrd, read the blueprints
for this place before starting this little venture. I'd like to see
what kind of sabotage I can do by me onesies. Anamaria with Liz,
Gibbs with Will; give a thought to acquiring their weapons if ye can,
and incapacitating those ye find. Any clue how many?"

"No, Captain," Will said.

"I'd estimate six, but I could be way off," Liz said. "Just guessing
because there were three in Manufacturing. Will, they shot Mr. Brown.
He seemed stable when I left, but he needs a doctor. And there's
something else I think you should know. One of them...he's Ragetti."

"Who?" asked Ana, furrowing her brow.

Liz covered one eye with her hand.

"Oh! Him. But, wasn't he fairly harmless?"

"This version's *smart,* Anamaria."

Jack was lost, just a second, to a red haze and roaring in his ears.
*Mutineer.* He swallowed the mad rage down, as he'd done in a cave so
long past. *Not* expedient now. A luxury, to be indulged later.

"He knew who I was, but not who I *was,* so we've got that at least."

"Where he is will be Pintel, as well," Will guessed, but a fair guess
to Jack's mind. "Keep an eye out. Ah, so to speak."

"Aye."

"All right, ye scalawags, milady, shall we?" Jack shouldered the gun
he'd lifted from the unconscious thug.

"Why do you get the gun?" Anamaria said.

"Because I'm the captain. Get yer own. Now *move!*"



* * *
Taxes 4 - Die Hard, With Pirates
* * *
Part 4: Commodore
* * *

Liz pulled Anamaria one way and Will took Gibbs another. It didn't
feel wrong to Jack to split from Will on this venture, as they were
connected, always had been, and would come together again in the end.
That was simply how it worked.

Now, if they did indeed have patrols, they'd be coming up the
stairwells in shifts... He flattened himself against the wall. Then
footsteps, *not* from the stairwell, dammit, and suddenly he held his
gun on someone who had his own out and aimed. Mexican standoff. Hell.

But he *knew* this one, and not from the past, either. He gave his
cockiest grin.

"Oh, *shit,*" the other man said.

"'Lo," he said. "Been a few weeks, hasn't it? Never did get your
name, or I'd introduce meself properly. Not that I'm generally
proper, ye understand. Wouldn't want the wrong impression getting
out."

"Hi, my name's Rick," said the gunman slowly, "and I'm completely
fucked."

"Fine lad like yourself, I'm not surprised."

"Look, I'm *not* gay! I have a girlfriend... why the hell am I..." He
put his gun up, began backing away,

"This is all gonna go straight to Hell in a handbasket, isn't it?
Just like the jewelry store job."

"If I can help it," Jack replied.

"Crap. Your kind of trouble I do not need. So, 'bye." He'd edged
himself to the stairs, and then he was gone. Jack listened to him
descend, and it was only after he congratulated himself on removing
that obstacle without firing a shot that Byrd murmured, //...you
realize that bastard had a way out, don't you?...//

Jack gave a mental shrug. //...oops...//

* * *

"Little Jimmy's gonna kick your ass, J.B."

Bill decided he loved listening to the Texans argue. Of course,
they'd made him say "Park the car in Harvard Yard," but that was
generally only funny once per customer. This was evergreen.

"What?"

"Y' filled up on funnel cakes at the pier, and you *knew* he was
gonna take us to lunch."

"I'll eat. I can pretty much always eat."

"Well, there's that. 'S a wonder y'aren't as wide as y'are tall."

"We're back," Bill broke in, and then, "Whoa."

They parked back at Starbucks, as the Royal Inc. lot was full of
orderly, squared groups of employees, though a handful milled near
various doors.

"Jimmy mentioned something 'bout a drill, but, yeah. Looks like the
whole building's empty."

"So where were you going to meet him?"

"There's a patio on the top floor - we were gonna have someone call
up. Maybe we can just..." Monty flipped open his phone. "Damn.
Nothin'. No reception."

" I was going to meet Will up there too. Oh well..." He wandered over
to a man in a maroon suit jacket. "You security?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you let us in? We were going to meet some people..."

"Sorry - the drill shorted out the doors; none of our badges are
getting us in." He shrugged. "Good thing we found out now, I guess,
instead of waiting for a real emergency. Phones are out, too."

"Well, do you know if a Will Smith is still..."

"Oh yeah, Will - no, he's still stuck inside. Just checked my
clipboard."

"Greg Norton?" asked J.B.

"The boss? He was gonna be in there anyway, he told us. So yeah." 
The guard looked down at his clipboard again, seemed to remember
something, and wandered away.

"Thought his name was Jimmy?"

"James Gregory."

"So you're *all* James something Norton?"

"Yep. Big Jim's our dad, and it kinda just went from there. 'Least he
changed up our middle names."

"Huh..."

Just then, a man slipped out an unattended side exit. Bill noticed
his watch detach itself, falling on the other side. "Hey, your watch
fell in there."

The man stared at him, eyes wide. //He sure startles easy,// Bill
thought.

"Thanks," he said, swiping his badge in front of the lock, waiting
for the beep, then yanking the door open. He retrieved his watch, and
the thought penetrated...

"Hey, *his* badge works..." Without really thinking about it, Bill
pulled the lanyard from the man's neck as he stood and swiped it over
the door, holding it open for Monty and J.B. Then he did think about
it for a second and turned to hand it back and apologize, but the man
was gone.

"Oh well. I'll just leave it at the desk later," he said, heading
upstairs, and J.B. shrugged.

* * *

To say Greg Norton was having a bad day would have been an
understatement.

The far-off noise had definitely been a gunshot, and in *his* goddamn
building, not outside. Mentally he added metal detectors to next
year's - next month's - budget as he pulled his boss around a corner.

"So, the phones don't work and we can't get out," Mr. Swan
said. "Double back?" Greg's gun preceded them, and they'd both
grabbed something sharp from the collection on Swan's office wall.

"Might be just what they're expecting," Greg whispered in reply, "but
it only takes one of 'em to catch us, wherever we're at, and then
they get the keys to the whole goddamn place if they get you, sir.
You know what they're probably after."

"I just never thought the competition was this damn desperate.
There's more going on here, Greg..." He sounded awfully sure, but
Greg didn't have time to think about it, what with gunmen patrolling
the halls. His halls. "There are one or two V.P.s that can get into
the executive safe," Swan continued, "But yeah, if they get me, they
know they're golden. We-"

He stopped when Greg held up a hand. The scrabbling noise above them
went through and away - mice in the ducts again? But it did alert
them to the footfalls. Plastered against the corner, and when the man
poked *his* gun around the corner, Greg grabbed it, pulled the man
forward, hit him in the throat and face. The thug dropped.

"Three down, God knows how many to go..."

"You're getting a raise, you know that?"

Greg rather thought he'd get an approval on his resignation, once the
man had a chance to think about it. That was for later. For now, what
the hell. "All right. Back it is."

* * *

Joey watched Maroney and Riggs herd two more people into the eighth-
floor meeting room. Looked like all the major V.P.s were MIA, but the
big boss was here, somewhere. Robbie had been sure he'd stick around,
and Robbie's intel was pretty much right on.

"So where is he?" asked Brady, who'd made it up from six,
unfortunately without the chick who'd've made things way easier.

"Maybe running," Joey said. "Doesn't matter much, though." He walked
back into the boss's office, sat down at his chair, and put his feet
up on the mahogany desk. "More people we collect in the meantime,
more guys we have as leverage once we do find him." Although, while
he wasn't surprised that Robbie wasn't back yet, since the blonde
liked to dawdle, it was a little disconcerting that the men were
taking so long to trickle in from their sweeps. "We'll round 'em all
up eventually."

* * *

"We'll round 'em up eventually," Monty said. "Think this might be the
seventh floor, but we'll just ask that guy..."

He walked over to the man facing the other direction.  "'Scuse me,
we're just visiting, and I -whoa!" Hands up, he backed away, then
stopped. Bill saw why - he and his new friends were stuck between two
men with guns.

"You guys don't work here, do you?" one of the gunmen observed.

"I was just going to say the same..." Bill murmured.

"Hell, we've got plenty of hostages," one of them said, and Bill
stiffened. "Let's just chuck 'em in the closet and jam the door," he
continued, and Bill let the breath out. He saw the Texans looking at
him with concern, but it wasn't like they had to worry. The panic
attacks were almost never triggered by things that actually made
sense.

Though the claustrophobia of standing in a messy janitor's closet
with two bigger men came close.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself. "If I just had a Swiss army
knife...or a couple of bootstraps and a nail..." And where the hell
had that come from? What the hell was a bootstrap, anyway, except
something successful people pulled themselves up by?

"I got a knife," Monty and J.B. chorused, then probably looked at
each other in the dark - it was hard to tell.

Something scraped across the ceiling, and he looked up. Was that a
grate?

"Hey, J.B.," he said, "Can you give me a leg up?"

* * *

The crawlspaces weren't nearly as helpful as Liz had hoped. They
could get you from one floor to another, but they didn't go that far.
They were probably too tight for any of the boys save Jack, and there
was something in there *with* them, hopefully cute little mice and
not - ick - cockroaches. Remembering cockroach summer '99, she
shuddered.

"All right there?" Anamaria whispered.

"Yeah." 

The crawlspaces had another benefit, too. Footsteps, and Liz reached
up, *pulled.* The man went *thud,* and Anamaria was on him in a
flash, out from behind a desk, pinning and choking 'till he passed
out.

"I'd have cut his throat," she whispered, "but I'll not put blood on
Annie's hands." She looked at Elizabeth, eyes shining
oddly. "She's... we're... a mother, you know."

"Yeah," Liz said, smiling.

They left the gunman bound and gagged in a cabinet. "Well, onward and
upward," Liz said, then, "Hey, you've got a gun now!"

"And no one left to shoot," Anamaria said. Despite her earlier words,
she sounded almost depressed.

* * *

Will and Gibbs turned a corner slowly, cautiously.

"Empty again, lad," the older pirate murmured.

"They're not leaving any for us!"

"And that's bad? But I've a feeling. Once we're at the top, things
may get - as the man says - interesting."

* * *

The scuffling noise in the ducts disconcerted Jack just a bit, as he
moved through the increasingly empty floors. Looked like the guards
were disappearing, some of which he'd had a hand in, some not.
Perhaps a few angels on their side? The office workers stayed in the
conference rooms, heads down, and he didn't blame them a bit. Almost
to the center of Floor 8 now, and there was a gunman bringing up the
rear. A skinny blonde.

One of the minor nuisances among the mutineers, to be sure, but one
who Bootstrap said had helped fasten the cannon to his feet, this one
and his good mate. Oh, this one... perhaps this one... He sounded Byrd
out on the bloody thought, and Byrd returned the sharp desire, but
also the knowledge that these men hadn't killed yet... that they knew
of... but how *was* Mr. Brown lately? And all right, then...

Jack stood in the man's blind spot and raised the weapon. A very
inconvenient attack of conscience, or perhaps just pride, as he
opened his mouth to boast...

The scuffling above him got louder. Something banged against a grate.
The grate opened.

A loose-limbed, grey-furred demon landed on Jack's gun with a
screech. Ragetti or whomever he was now turned and fired one shot by
sheer instinct, which missed. Then he stared.

"Mate, have I lost it, or are you fighting with a monkey?"

//...our thoughts exactly...oh *shit*...//

Later. Think about what the monkey means *later.*

Ragetti kept the gun on them, but could only stare as Jack tried to
shake the monkey off, while it reared and tried to bite, and Jack had
to drop the weapon. Considering, neither of them should have been too
surprised as a second furred creature leapt down and attacked the
beast.

*Hector!?*

//...must have stowed away with Will...//

Unfortunately, they were fighting atop the gun. Jack's gun. So Jack
took the opportunity to run for it.

//And now I need another gun.//

* * *

After the monkey and the weasel...

"All I'm missing is the bloody fucking mulberry bush..."

...had chased each other into another vent, Robbie reevaluated his
situation.

No one rejoining him from their sweeps. The man with the gun wasn't
one of theirs, and resistance hadn't been in the plan. Whether or not
they retained control, they could at least retain some profit if he
left now. Joey and the gang would either meet up with him...or they
wouldn't. Not to mention the girl, whom he *knew* was trouble.

"Unknown elements... bloody understatement... I'm getting the hell out
while the getting's good... Joey knows not to wait for me anyway..."

Exit plan implemented.

* * *

Joey Pintoli looked at his watch. Where the hell *was* everybody?
Riggs and Brady were back watching the conference room, and Maroney
was walking Floor 8, but there should've been a whole lot more folks
back by now. *With* the old man, because there was a safe with his
name on it...

"Few more minutes and I'm gonna be officially annoyed."

* * *

Maroney was in fact patrolling the top level, skirting the patio for
the one area he hadn't yet checked through - the ladies' restroom.

He couldn't really be blamed for not expecting Warren Swan, CEO, to
be hiding right behind the door with his brother-in-law's Vietnam-era
machete.

Warren would always later blame the onrush of memories from Weatherby
Swann, Governor, for his own passing out.  He certainly didn't faint
like a girly man at the sight of all that blood. Maroney, on the
other hand, most likely did black out when his hand was severed at
the wrist.

* * *

Riggs and Brady heard the scream and straightened, turned to run in
that direction.

This was highly convenient for Will and Gibbs, who stuck out one leg
apiece. The thugs pitched forward into the wall at the end of the
corridor, knocking themselves cold.

"That was my big contribution? I'm never going to live this down,"
Will muttered. "I've not even had a chance to throw anything."

"Please, lad. If ye mean Jack, he'd much rather trip all his enemies
from the end of a hallway than chase them about with swords. Moment
doesn't get much more opportune than that."

"...You're probably right."

* * *

Pintoli also leapt up at the scream, running to the door.
Unfortunately, he left his gun on the desk, and there was more than
one door to the office.

When he looked back, a man stood between him and the weapon, reaching
for it...He lunged, tackled, and they slammed to the desk, struggling.

* * *

Pintel. Damned be it, he'd known Will was right. And this version was
healthy, bulky, clean-shaven, wearing an expensive Italian suit...

"Nice suit..."

"Thanks," the doppelganger replied, then headbutted Jack, stunning
him. Shake it off...Gun! Grab for it, a miss, oh hell... One of them
kicked the gun and it went skidding, and then they went skidding
across the desk to the floor.

Jack dodged a punch, went for the throat, had his wrist twisted - Not-
Pintel had him by the shoulders, about to slam his head against the
ground; he threw him off and dodged and they went 'round again. But
this one - did he have the same - yes! Slightly favoring *that*
move... //I watched you brawl once upon a time, *mutineer...*// Jack's
fist connected once, twice, and the gun was there -

Then it was in his hand, and then he crouched above the prone
criminal, holding the gun to the nape of the man's neck.

"Who the fuck *are* you?" Eastern New York, if Jack was any judge.
Interesting. "What the hell happened to my men?"

"*You're* the boss?"

"*Yeah,* asshole. Joey Pintoli. Maybe you heard of me?"

"Can't say as I have. But you've a very familiar face." Jack knew his
tone for deadly, and felt the man tense even before he readied the
gun to fire.

"He's down, Jack," came a very familiar voice. "They're all down, far
as I can tell. Back away."

"But he-"

"Nobody's dead, yet, Jack," said Greg Norton. "You pull that trigger,
only murderer today's gonna be you."

"Greg, ye don't *understand-*"

Another gun cocked with a click. "I have put your neck in far too
many a noose, Jack Sparrow. Do *not* force me to do it again."

Jack's eyes widened. That had not been a Texas drawl.

He put up his weapon, though he kept pressure on the man he held.
Jack turned to look into the eyes of Commodore James Norrington. The
keen, clear gaze regarded him in turn, and Norrington gave his slight
smile, the greeting of honorable enemies, well met.

"So. Here we are again, Jack Sparrow."  And Jack thought he could
forgive the omission, just this once.

But then his face changed, frowned, took on a look of alarmed
confusion. "Jack? Where... what's happened to me?" He shuddered,
which, since he held a cocked gun, made Jack *very* nervous. "What's
happenin' t' me? What the hell's goin' on!?"

Norton's eyes rolled back and he dropped like a rock. The gun, thank
God, did not go off, but it landed an inch from Pintoli's hand. The
thug shook Jack off, lunged...

And a woman's shoe came down on Joey's hand while another kicked him
in the head, hard enough to stun. Then Liz had her knee in Pintoli's
back and Norton's gun pressed into the back of his skull.

"'Ello, poppet," she said. "Move, and I open your head."

It would be a long time before he had any idea where it came from,
but Joey gasped out, "Parlay?"

On that word, in came three men, two taller even than Norton, and all
covered in grey-brown lint. Norton, sitting up and rubbing his head,
saw them first and said, "Hey, guys. Um, I'm okay - thanks, hon."

One of the two that *wasn't* once Bootstrap Bill Turner took in the
tableau. His mouth worked once, twice, and finally...

"Holy shit, Little Jimmy. If this is her, when's the wedding?"

"Little Jimmy?" Jack asked, grinning.

"Do *not* start..."

"Will?"

"Fa - Dad!?"

"Can I shoot 'em? Any of 'em?"

"I think they're all with us, Ana."

"Ah, hell."


* * *
Taxes 4 - Die Hard, With Pirates
* * *
Part 5: Aftermath
* * *

With Bill's purloined badge, they all made it downstairs, and a
bloodied but unbowed Warren Swan got far enough out to make several
calls. The paramedics and police arrived at once, Jill Norton first
on the scene and first into the building, after trading incredulous
glances with her ex. Security, and then more police, watched the
exits, but no one else left.  Jack heard snatches of conversation...

--

"Damndest thing," Bill, to Will... "Couldn't go sideways, and that
crawlspace was small, even going straight up. Felt like I was going
to have another one of those panic attacks, even after I got out,
but..."

"Dad, you said you were over those..."

"Well, I thought I was, but my point is that seeing that thug on the
floor with a gun held on him - it just lifted, somehow. I need to
keep that mental image..."

--

"Little Jimmy..." One of the Texas contingent...

"C'mon, Monty, it's Greg now. I'm gonna get no end of crap..."

"Whatever, Greggo. She got a sister?"

--

"Seems like a dream, but it wasn't, was it?" Gibson, to Liz. "I'm
really... I was really..."

"It's real, Josh. You were a real pirate, back in the day. And you
were again today, too."

"Well, shiver me timbers."

--

Sobbing... light, feminine. Jack's head turned, found Annie Mae. He
walked to her.

"Annie?" And received a surprise.

"Nay, Captain Sparrow."

The captain came forth, just a bit, summoned by a pirate's tears.
Anamaria stared up at him, sparkling beads on her cheeks.

"Ah, lass..." He swung an arm around her. "What could make my strong
Ana cry so?"

"Jack..." and her damp face was transfixed with wonder. "Jack, I've
kin now."

"Ana?"

"D'ye understand? Me father died when I was four, me mum died
birthing me last sister, and all me sisters died babes or a-borning.
D'ye remember?"

"I suppose... I suppose I knew that, but so few of us had kin that
chose that life... I never marked it."

"But here, now - they live yet, Jack! I've a mother and father, and
three sisters, and a husband, and two beautiful children... such gifts
I've been given in this lifetime, Jack. Such treasure." She smiled
softly through the tears. "'Tis an embarrassment of riches, truly. I
love them all, but I don't think I appreciate them as I should.
That... oh, that will change."  She looked up and dried her eyes. "But
it's me that must change for the time being, as me - my sister's
here.  Helen! Hey, Helen, I'm over here! I'm okay!"

Jack turned, and the cup of cocoa from emergency services very nearly
hit the floor.  Approaching was a statuesque, athletic black woman
with light tan braids to the middle of her back.

He knew her. Sparrow knew her better. And had seen much more of her.

//Honey!?//

Oh, this wasn't awkward at all.

He braced himself, as he had an idea that once Annie Mae knew he'd
met her sister in a professional capacity, both selves would likely
be united in doing him grievous bodily harm.  Then the woman was
reaching out... to shake his hand.

"Hi," she said slowly, "I'm Helen Martin, Annie Mae's sister.
I_don't_think_we've_met."

"No..." Jack replied. "I'd remember, trust me." And he flashed her
one of Sparrow's conspiratorial smiles. Looking away from Annie for
an instant, Honey - Helen - winked. Then they shifted, he moved away,
and the sisters closed ranks. "...Tyler's coming, I was just a little
closer..."

A moment later, he was face to face with Greg Norton.

Or, was he?

Greg walked away from the crowd, looking back at Jack, and Byrd
followed. He must have marked Jack's inquisitive look, for he
began, "You probably want to know who you're talking to, don't you?"

Jack shrugged.

"Well, when I figure it out, I'll let you know." He took a deep
breath. "God. I... this is just... so many things make *sense* now,
Jack, I..."

"I know. Been there, mate. Maybe I'm still there." Accents and
personalities ran fluid.

Greg turned to him with that ironic quirk of a smile. "Y'know, I'll
most likely hate y' again tomorrow anyhow. Except... I'm not entirely
certain I ever did. I think, perhaps, I've mistaken for hatred what
is instead a profound annoyance." He'd ended the sentence as James
Norrington, and he seemed to notice. "I... we... gotta get a handle
on this thing."

"It gets easier," Jack advised. "You'll work it out. Liz ..."

Entirely Norrington as he asked, eyes intense, "How long has
Elizabeth been waiting for me?"

He answered as Sparrow. "Not long, mate. Few weeks, that's all."

"'Course. Figures. The day we got engaged. Shoulda figured I was
outnumbered."  His eyes left Jack's, staring into the distance. "I
keep wandering off on these tangents... Momma always told me I had an
old soul. She used to paint my face for the Day of the Dead, and when
I'd go out and run around the carnivals, I'd feel this presence with
me. Someone on the edge of my vision, out of the corner of my eye.
Now I finally know. But it's so damn *strange.*"

"You'll get it," Jack repeated. "Just... a little advice. If anyone
ever suggests past-life regression... don't."

"My old adversary," replied the Commodore. "You always told me more
truth than ever I credited. I recall the day I realized that not only
were you truly rooting for me the whole time, but why, exactly, that
was." He looked to Will, talking quietly with his father, and
occasionally looking in their direction. Jack followed his gaze. Will
caught Jack's eye for just an instant, and a smile lit his face. It
was breathtaking.

"Aye," Jack whispered.

Then Jill Norton crossed his line of sight, and the croggled look on
Greg's face said he'd remembered who she used to be.

Oh, this definitely had possibilities. A grin stole across Jack's
face, then abated as another officer walked Pintoli out behind her.

"Knew you wouldn't shoot," Greg remarked.

"No, you didn't..."

"I'm ex-Army from Texas and you're an accountant. Which of us do you
think is quicker on the trigger?"

"Oh. Guess you did." Jack didn't mention that he'd been a pirate at
the time - Sparrow likely was a quicker draw... with a flintlock
pistol. Change of subject... "Greg, something's bugging me, big-time.
They had a distraction going in - how were they going to get out?
Rick left out the front door, but nobody's found Ragetti, and I've
been watching. They had to have a way to get everyone out at once..."

He glanced at the van. Dogs were circling, and the bomb squad had
established a wide perimeter.

"Shit... they'd better clear out of there..."

He stood, began to walk to Jill, and the van's lights went on. It
revved, reversed... the bomb squad scattered, and the van took off
with a squeal. Down the road, dodging police cars, it wove
erratically, careening dangerously close to a cliff...

And then off of it.

The explosion rattled windows and set off car alarms - at least
twenty.

"Robbie! No!" Joey cried, collapsing in the arms of the officer that
held him.

"Give it up, mate," Jack whispered in his ear, from right behind. "We
both know there wasn't anyone in that van."

Pintoli straightened immediately, glaring back. "How'd you know?"

Jack didn't bother to answer, merely turning to Jill. "Tunnels," he
said urgently. "It's the only option left. They've got to have
tunnels out to a storm drain, a beach, something! You've got dogs..."

"They're bomb dogs, Jack. But I do have cadets. Yo, cadets!"

* * *

By the time the trainees found the tunnels, Robbie was long gone.

As soon as the van finished its wild ride, he tossed the remote
control into his silver case, walked out of the twenty-foot pipe, and
got into one of three boats. Considering his colleagues' tardiness to
this point, he didn't think the others would get any use.

Robbie gunned the motor. Their yacht was just offshore, and he'd wait
the requisite time before leaving, but not a second longer. He looked
up the cliff.

"I'll get you out, Joey. Somehow. Even if I have to track my sources
down, the sneaky, scary bastards. I'll find them and I'll make them
help me. I promise, mate. I promise."

* * *

Eventually the paramedics found Brown stable enough to move - Maroney
was at the hospital long-since, in surgery to reattach his hand. The
police finished their interviews, and all began to disperse.

Norton watched the process, as he stood by Swan's side, Liz with her
arm reaching up and around his shoulder, her head on his chest.

"My love," the new-old half of him murmured, and thrilled to see
Elizabeth shining in her eyes. Then the commodore yielded to the
cowboy, as there was work to be done.

"Back in the building ...you said there was more going on here, sir.
What'd you mean?"

"This attack. I read about this sort of thing in the Wall Street
Journal - office takeovers, straight out of Die Hard, but on a
smaller scale. Moscow, Munich, Rio de Janeiro. The reporter had
plenty of theories, but I noticed some commonalities on my own.  In
one way or another, each company that was attacked competed with
branches of several big companies, but..."

Greg felt Liz turn her head, look at her father. "Ross...?"

"Right. After each attack, there was a steady drain of talent from
each company - fears for safety, unpleasant associations, it's not
hard to see why... anyway. Mostly, the people went to one particular
firm. Eden Corp. - Hernando Ross's baby. His divisions got stronger,
the smaller guys got weaker - he took over the German corporation
last year."

"That's... //...diabolical...// the Commodore murmured, though not
out loud this time.

"Yeah. But it's not happening here." Steel in Swan's voice, machete-
sharp. "I know who I want to keep, and I'm going to offer them the
moon if I have to."

Which brought Greg to something he'd been avoiding, something he
could not put off any longer. He felt Norrington's quiet support -
the man knew duty, he *was* duty, which suggested something of
Greg...but all that navel-gazing had to be later. God knew, he might
have plenty of time.

"Liz," Greg said, squeezing her shoulder, "Can you take Monty and
J.B. back to my place? This is a pretty big deal, security-wise, and
I think I'm gonna be here awhile."

She wasn't fooled, putting a hand on his face and turning it to
hers. "Greg, don't you dare."

"Liz, I just... I..."

"Fine, but we're not going anywhere. I'm going to be over with your
brothers - we'll go together."

She disengaged, turned to leave, and fixed her father with a glare.

"Don't you dare either, Dad."

Then she was gone, and it was time to step up.

"Sir, I think that I ought to offer my resignation."

* * *

None of them were quite resigned to going back to Will's apartment.
All the three were energized, fingertips tingling, eyes too wide.
Especially Jack. They went instead for an early dinner. As they
walked into the restaurant, Bill said, slowly, "I know you, you know?"

A breath of hope... Will seemed to catch it as he watched his father
closely.

"You were in one of my classes! You were one of the brightest
undergrads I ever taught." A considering look. "Even if you were
drunk or high half the time."

"I resemble that remark." Not Bootstrap after all, but *that*
professor... "My god, you're right. About me being there-" he
added, but saw Bill smile, if still consideringly.

//...Damn. How could I forget... Professor Smith. I had the most
insane crush on him...//

An answering chord from the pirate within. Mad desire mellowing into
friendship, as the other man willed it so. He remembered.

"And unless I'm wrong, Gibson was one of my grad students at the
time. I don't know if you'd know this, but I was in on some of the
better gags you all pulled - mostly behind the scenes, though."

"Ships passing in the night, I guess."

Well. This was working out much better than the last time he'd
reunited with Bill in his capacity as Will's father.

He was still locking the bedroom door tonight.

Then Jack caught movement out of the corner of his eye. "Hold on," he
murmured, and walked back to the car.

A black, tan-masked muzzle tapped on the glass. Jack opened the door
and cracked the window.

"Sorry."

"Squeak!"

* * *

"This shouldn't have happened, sir," Greg continued. "It was on my
watch. I can have the letter on your desk by-"

"Oh, cut it out," Swan replied, and Greg blinked. "If I wanted your
resignation, I'd've asked for it by now. Conspiracies aside, if this
mess is anyone's fault beyond the crooks involved, it's mine. I've
been playing things too close to the vest again, and I think maybe
it's finally bit me on the ass."

Greg waited, saying nothing, and getting the distinct impression he
wasn't at all going to like what came next.

"They had an inside man, Greg. I'm certain of it."

"Do you know who?"

"I have one or two ideas. Nothing confirmed. But I'll wager anything
you could name," just the barest hint of Weatherby, there, "that it's
the same man who's been siphoning away a good bit of the money we
should have been paying in taxes for the last few years."

Greg whipped his head around to stare at his boss. Oddly enough, it
was the Commodore who felt more betrayed, though he stayed out of it
for now.

"Someone came directly to me several months ago," Warren continued,
"with hints. Suspicions. Enough to make me look into things just a
bit, and come up with suspicions of my own. But it was all incredibly
subtle and pernicious. I had no proof, and I needed the absolute best
person for the job. So I tipped off the IRS with enough information
to ensure they'd do an audit, and then I pulled all the strings I had
to make sure we got Jack Byrd. Sneakiest auditor I'd ever heard of...
but I *had* heard of him. Once that process started, you had limited
access to our financial records, which was the only place there was
even a hint of malfeasance, 'till now. All the government protocols
slid into place, and I couldn't admit a thing to anyone, not even
Liz."

"Since, if you admitted you knew and didn't tell anyone, you might be
found partially liable. Or even complicit," Greg finished for
him. "Because there's no way now to prove how much you knew or how
long you knew it. And now, there's no way to tell about me, either."

"So you see now why I didn't want to involve you if I didn't have to.
You're good, Greg, when I'm not tying your hands, but as far as
financial investigations go, and following the money, Jack Byrd is
the best there is. It had to be him, him and his team. You're a
bright man, but our embezzler's smart, too. I needed someone..."

"...savvy?" Greg sighed. "'Sometimes, piracy can be the right
course,'" he quoted. "Guess y' can take your own advice."

"Guess so." He looked at Greg, intensity in those patrician
features. "You know that if I'd put it together... if I'd had the
slightest idea that someone might get hurt..."

Sometimes, duty meant trust. Together, they chose to believe. "I
know, sir."



* * *
Taxes 4 - Die Hard, With Pirates
* * *
Part 6: The Highwayman
* * *

The invitations were for a barbecue. On the surface, they seemed
classic Jack flippancy, reading "Come, if you remember." But the
recipients knew what he meant.

A free trip to Disneyland decoyed Monty and J.B. Bill went to visit
friends in San Diego - he was on sabbatical this semester anyway, and
planned to spend the rest it with various acquaintances, all in the
Golden State within driving distance of his son.

Today was a call to pirates, politicians, and old soldiers, and they
came, one and all, to Jack.

Gibson was one of the first there, with a bowl of potato salad. Annie
Mae wasn't far behind, and the two fell to talking.

"I think the most disturbing thing is - you remember last year, when
I wouldn't change my socks until the Buccaneers won the Superbowl?"

"Ugh. Tried to forget."

"Well, I'd just about convinced myself that was ridiculous and I was
never going to do it again, and now..." Josh put his elbows on the
back of Jack's couch and leaned forward, head down. "Not only does
~he~ think it's a great idea, but he's sure it did the trick! I'm
going to be back on Prozac in a week, I know it."

"I know a counter," Jack said, handing Josh a rum and coke.

"Really?"

"Yep. No socks at all, 'till the Bucs do it again. Or the end of
football season, whichever comes first."

Josh sipped the rum and coke. "Y'know, that might just do it."
Pondered. "Not quite dress code, though."

"Well, your boss won't tell if you won't."

Annie rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage him."

"Y'all think you've got problems?" Greg, wandering in through the
open screen door. "Who the hell am I supposed to root for at the
Army/Navy game?"

"You tell me, Little Jimmy."

"Y'know, I wish I didn't remember that it takes a ship full of guys
with bayonets t' shut you up, and that it only works for about ten
minutes anyhow."

"What's that, there?" Will asked. Greg put down a foil-wrapped
package, then turned to take another from Liz as she walked in.

"Ribs. Pre-seasoned. No offense, but I don't trust any of you to know
good barbecue."

"Hey guys," Liz added. "Seriously. Give them a shot."

"Don't know what's worse," Annie Mae said from the couch. "British or
Texan chauvinism."

"While I'm loath to admit it," and Norrington's voice made them all
turn their heads, "the Texan variety comes with better food."

Now leaning with Will along the wall, Jack murmured, "I think those
two are going to have a very interesting relationship. It's possible
I might be in a little trouble here."

Will's mouth quirked. "Well, there's always the Jill factor."

"Aye, especially if what I suspected all those years was true, and
I'm fairly seldom wrong about such matters." Will got his drift, and
raised his eyebrows. "But that's me hole card. Use it too often,
he'll see it coming, and it'll lose its effect, savvy?"

"Aye."

Liz, who'd been wandering around the kitchen, kicked a small, empty
bowl on the floor. "Jack, did you get a pet?"

"Yep. I'll introduce you later. He's at the vet right now - be okay,
but he got in a fight."

"Don't know why I'm not surprised. I'll bet he likes rum, too."

Pulling up at that moment in his silver Q45, Swan was the last to get
there. He walked in with a bottle of what Jack recognized as *very*
expensive rum - a host gift more than a party contribution. Of
course, he also had a bottle of moderately expensive tequila. The
modern half of Jack was mildly shocked that Warren endorsed his
daughter's liking for margaritas, while the pirate approved
wholeheartedly.

"Dad!" Liz hugged him, and Jack watched as she looked deeply into his
eyes. Searching for signs of sleeplessness, no doubt. She'd been the
one to tell them both that the Governor had awakened too, otherwise
they might never had known it. The man was so controlled... and
perhaps the most changed of them all. Weatherby Swann had been many
things, including a surprisingly able administrator, but Jack had
never considered him dangerous. Warren, on the other hand... from just
the little Jack had gleaned working on the premises, his present life
might just be summed up as "no more Mr. Nice Guy." Not that he wasn't
a nice guy - he had, after all, brought alcohol.

"Jack?" Liz said. "I *know* you have a blender..."

* * *

Jack waited until they'd all had time to get drinks, 'till the ribs
were on the grill, and they were all in his backyard enjoying the
sunset and the unseasonably warm fall evening. He listened to Greg
and Gibson get into a fairly good-natured argument about the relative
merits of the Dallas Cowboys and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, and heard
Annie Mae wonder out loud if this was a barbecue, a war council, or a
support group.

Time to remind them all it was all of the above. Almost
subconsciously, he slid an arm around Will's shoulders and cleared
his throat.

"Okay. I'm only going to say this once, because it sounds stupid.
We're all here today because I saw a monkey."

Absolutely no one laughed.

"I thought I'd seen something the night we..." Will blushed, looked
away for a second, Liz smiled. "...woke up," he continued, "but the
flashbacks were coming fast and furious then, and I think I wanted to
ignore the possibility that it was real. Because there's really only
one thing it could mean."

The smile was gone, and Elizabeth said, "Barbossa."

"Aye, Barbossa," Jack growled, all Sparrow for that instant. And
those that weren't used to hearing it did stare a bit, as they had at
Greg earlier. "We're all back, all here," he continued in modern
tones, "and Will isn't the only one that wanted to ignore the
possibility that we weren't the only ones."

"The two scalawags sacking Royal Inc. should have been enough of a
hint, I suppose," said Gibson, or more properly, Gibbs, and he was
the one to get the looks this time. "It was on his orders, then?"

"I don't think so," Jack said, "at least, not directly, if only
because Ragetti or whoever he is now was as floored by the whole
monkey thing as I was."

"Robbie," Greg put in. "Jill let me watch some of the interrogations.
Pintoli didn't give him up, but one of the gang let the name slip."

"Do they remember too?" asked Annie.

"No," said Liz, confidently. "I'd know. I think I've got a sense for
these things. Dad didn't tell me. I took one look at him and I knew."
She shrugged. "Maybe wearing that medallion for eight years did
something to me - like working next to a reactor and having kids with
six toes or something."

"You always did kind of think outside the box, didn't you?" Gibson
put in.

"At any rate," Jack continued, "History's repeating, if in weird,
twisted ways..."

"I'll say," Annie Mae broke in. "You didn't steal my car, this time,
but it's as dead as me boat was."

"And while we know some of it's fate," He gestured, elaborately, at
Annie, "Like that, I have to think that some of it may be design."

"Hard to tell, isn't it?" Swan said, and everyone looked at him, not
because he sounded any different, but because these were the first
words he'd spoken, save to Liz. Jack suspected he'd been saving them,
so as to sound profound. "Either way, though, I think I know who he
is."

Well. If he had been saving his speech for dramatic effect, Jack
approved.

"Liz and Greg may have figured it out already. A tycoon and a
recluse, no pictures of him that I've found. The man's name is Ross,
or at least, it is now." He explained, briefly, what else he'd put
together, as he'd shared it with Liz and Greg that night, and Jack
held up a hand.

"Eden Corp., you said." Focus tightened, Swan returned the
gaze. "What's his first name?"

"Hernando. Hernando Ross."

Jack put his drink down. "It's him." Then he looked at the drink,
took it back up, and drained it. "It's him, and he remembers."

"How do you figure?" Gibson asked.

Will had come to it at the same time. "Eden. Apples, temptation... and
there was another famous Hernando, once upon a time."

Jack's hand, outstretched, caught the group's attention. He explained
with one word. "Cortez."

"So," Annie Mae said, "what do we do about it?"

"...I'll come to it presently."

* * *

"Ah," Jack said, back on the patio after all the guests had gone, his
arm around his Will again. "That was everything I'd hoped."

"But we didn't resolve anything. Barbossa's still out there
somewhere, probably powerful and filthy rich, possibly coming for us
again, and none of us have any idea of what to do about it."

"Yes, but we're *talking.* The one thing we couldn't do, back then -
could a pirate truly coordinate and communicate with a commodore
without one of us being in irons? Even though we're not all friends,
really..."

"We did a pretty good imitation tonight, though."

"That was partly the strangeness of everything and the novelty of
having people who understand it."

"Which may be our saving grace," Will said thoughtfully. "We've got
that to connect us all this time. And... other things, I think, maybe
things we haven't remembered yet. So much is still so vague, even
when we're Turner and Sparrow."

"Speaking of which, you promised to fill me in later. I'd love to
take that the naughty way, but it's been a few days and you haven't
brought it up. What was that... thing that happened when I switched,
that made you change too?"

"Give me a moment," Will said, taking a breath. Jack watched, truly
*watched* the transition this time, and it was sublimely sensual. All
of Will stretching almost imperceptibly, a subliminal roll of every
muscle as his body language changed, filled with the blacksmith's
grace and fire. Jack was rock-hard and at attention immediately, and
then he felt it.

It was an ache in his bones, like the sea longing. A need, suddenly,
to be Jack Sparrow once more and see the world with that skewed
vision, to yield himself to those passions. To be Will's mad pirate
again. It *itched,* and it was getting worse, and he wanted, and he
always took what he wanted, and he readied himself, felt his other
self ready...

"Hold, Byrd," said Will Turner, and Jack heard, listened. A shivery
feeling from Sparrow, within, but especially since that wonderful,
horrible weekend, he would never go against his other's will. Or his
own Will...

"You see," said Turner, "We're linked, in our aspect. When I come
forth, it pulls forth my captain, and the other way as well. It's
resistible, but not pleasant. I feel it too."

"I know," Jack said. Partly, it was the bond between them, made
manifest. "The others aren't like this. Not even Liz and Greg. It's
only when we truly, completely change drivers, but... nnh. It's just
dissonant. Off, somehow. I wonder why..." Now, it was becoming
fascinating, though, like poking at a sore tooth.

"Perhaps there is no "why" to it - it may just be the way of things.
And it may be that it will ease in time, or that we may find a
remedy, if we need. But I think in part it is how we woke one
another, and why, that weekend, I went as far away as my Jack."

"Will said it was because he was angry - he shut you out."

"That was what he thought at the time, but we like this theory now."
His breathing grew deeper, and his hands twitched. Jack *knew* Will
wanted to touch him, wanted it badly, but feared to drive matters out
of anyone's control. It was up to him, then...

"I think that understanding more can wait, don't you?"

"Oh, *yes,*" Turner breathed. "Come, my captain..."

Shift. Rush. *Sway.*

"Oh, I fully intend to," he grinned, "but I'm hoping we'll arrive
together, or near enough. Now, are ye going to fill me in or not?"

Will tackled him, bearing them both off the patio and onto the grass.
Well, and it was a lovely evening. Night. Oh, oh, my...

//...my thoughts exactly...//

Will kissed him hard, so hard, they rolled just a little to one side
and he smelled warm, moist earth. They had a moment each to gasp, and
then he said,

"'S what I love about ye, lad. You keep me grounded."

Will's groan began annoyed and became ardent as Jack reached inside
loose jeans to grasp him firm, tight. Hands to his hips, Will pushed
his jeans down and off, not bothering with the buttons. He moaned
beautifully into Jack's mouth, started thrusting slightly, and then
came to himself just a little. In his ear, Jack murmured, "Such a
pity I'm wearing button-fly myself - you can't undo it with your
teeth."

"Can't I?" Oh, the lad had always been a sucker for a challenge, but
the sight was more than Jack had expected. Almost, he came just from
the intermittent pressure-heat and from watching that mouth move.
Will blew softly on the revealed flesh and his eyes gleamed at the
resultant whole-body shudder. He smiled, and had one finger inside
before Jack really knew what happened.

"Y'cheated." He smiled. "Good lad."

And now (now !?) Will was taking his time. His other hand reached up
to trace lazy circles on Jack's chest while the finger within
crooked, pressed... Jack pushed back on it, eyes hazing out for just
an instant. Long, lingering kiss this time as two fingers... mm. He
felt oddly lazy himself, and rode Will's attentions like he'd ride
the sea. Ah, the third merited Will's warm and beautiful lips and he
rocked slowly forth and back and then... abandoned, so briefly yet he
felt the loss so keen... "Now," he growled, and Will replied, "As you
wish," with an impish grin and where had he seen that smile before?
He pressed in slowly... so slowly... too slowly and Jack could not
speed it for the blacksmith's hands held him to the soft, green-
scented grass... oh, this would not do - he shivered, quite obviously
and deliberately, beginning with his toes and not ending 'till he'd
gone to his fingertips and back.

Will's eyes widened, and efforts at slow and tender torture went to
naught. Jack smiled bright as the man worked him hard into the grass,
thrusting faster and faster as Jack worked his hips around. Yet
somehow, somehow even maddened with hands digging in turf, the lad
had the presence of mind to twist in that way he had, or maybe it was
natural and OH- THERE! Sudden, so sudden, not sudden at all, up and
back and in and yes, please - oh, this always happened... so, he
thought with perfect clarity, why fight it? Gave it up, all of it,
felt himself tighten as Will rocked all through him, and he smelled
Will and the earth and the black of the night sky... then the moon
filled his eyes and he cried a familiar name.

Will came an instant later, then took his name back with a kiss.

* * *

Just a bit later, after a shower, tender and erotic but both men too
exhausted to do more than wash one another, Jack Byrd found himself
on his couch, a low fire going, rum to his right. Sparrow had left
him a bit of a buzz, but he took another pull to mellow the weird
empty/fullness he felt in the pirate's wake.

//...no fears, me own self. I'm here yet...//

//...I know...// And Jack felt a warmth that had nothing to do with
the fire or the alcohol. It was not long, though, before he fell back
into a contemplative mood. By and by, seized by an impulse, he stood
and took his guitar down from the wall. He placed it on his lap,
strummed softly.

"I was a highwayman, along the coach roads I did ride ..."

* * *

Elsewhere, Greg Norton stood on his balcony, grey sweat pants his
only protection from cooling night air.

* * *

"With sword and pistol by my side..."

* * *

Eyes closed, he sought the quiet, steady core that he'd only just
become able to name.

//...Norrington...//

Inhaling deeply as he felt the contact.

//...here...//

He stood for long seconds, just feeling and remembering. Then...

//...I'm glad... I am, y'know. you're like... the answer to a question
I didn't even know I was askin'...//

//...though, I know I leave more questions in my wake...// the
Commodore's thought felt almost apologetic. Greg smiled a second,
letting him know it was all right.

//...not all important as knowing you, finally... but there's
one... something... one outta so many memories we can't quite see
yet...//

* * *

"Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade..."

* * *

//...we are the keeper of a secret, you and I. I sense this, though I
do not know what it is. there is a memory of profound power and
sadness over which we hold charge...// Norrington replied.

//...yeah. I can feel it too. what do we do about it?...//

//...nothing, I think, for now. if it is needed, it will unlock first
within us. our duty, though we know it not...//

"Greg," came Liz's voice from within. "Come to bed." And he came back
to himself slowly, opening his eyes, but he took too long, for next,
low and oh, so warm...

"James. Come to bed, my love."

No choice but to obey that call. His will was hers. "Elizabeth, you
are a siren. I can deny you nothing."

As she took him to her bed, all memories but those of her scent, her
touch, her utter warmth, faded into the background.

* * *

Elsewhere, Jack sang on.

"Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade... The bastards hung me
in the spring of twenty-five, but I am still alive..."

* * *

END TAXES 4

TMF



Credits and references:

Jack is singing "The Highwayman" by The Highwaymen. Find it here:
http://www.thesonglyrics.com/h_song_lyrics/highwaymen_lyric1.html .

We may be seeing this song again :).

The sort of pranks Jack and Josh got up to in college can be found
here: http://hacks.mit.edu/ . There are some great ones - the one
with the dean's - actually President's - office is here:
http://hacks.mit.edu/Hacks/by_year/1990/vest_bboard/ - I think the
timing might even work.

This fic contains a couple of references to Gundam Nymph's story "Sea
Longing (located on her aff.net author page at
http://adultfan.nexcess.net/aff/authors.php?no=4525)." One of them's
obvious, the other one's not quite as. Can you spot them?

Gundam Nymph's also my Beta - Thanks muchly as always, GN!

Speaking of references, I did, in fact, have permission to rip off
Sinister_Beauty's best LJ icon text *ever* - Jack saying "I will fuck
your shit up, savvy?" Thanks SB!

Cleo came up with Anamaria's line about the boat/car/spaceship.
Thanks Cleo!

Visual Help:

I've decided that Warren Swan, corporate mogul, looks an awful lot
like Jonathan Pryce playing the Bond villain/ corporate mogul in
Tomorrow Never Dies. So, Warren looks a lot like this:

http://jamesbond007.net/advers/ECarver.html , or, slightly less
sinister: http://www.geocities.com/ultimatejbwebsite/carver.html

Yes, he drives an Infiniti. :) Yes, I'm old enough to remember those
commercials. ;)

Also, I think we'll have Bootstrap / Professor William Smith, Sr.
played by Anthony Stewart Head of Buffy, because he's just so damn
cool.

Here he is after getting off the plane from Boston:
http://buffyworld.senet.com.au/content/images/full/giles/ash01.jpg.



That's all, folks!

If me muses get enough rum and tequila, I'll see ye in Part 5, mateys!


* * *
The Mad Fangirl