And Taxes 6 - The Mad Fangirl

Title: Taxes 5 - Halloween / Day of the Dead
Author: The Mad Fangirl - batya_93@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, savvy?
Rating: NC-17
Arrrrchive: Yes, please - just tell me where.
Pairings: W/J, E/N, hints of G/E (you'll see...)
Warnings: Hot guy-guy slashy action; i.e. 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! Also, Major Character Death in 5B.

Summary and Notes:
Hi all! Fangirl here. To follow, you'll find Taxes 5, which is really
two stories, 5A, Halloween, and 5B, Dia de los Muertos. Halloween's
going to be more loopy fun, Day of the Dead a bit heavier. Fair warning:
5B will also reveal the death of one of the past lives, which I guess
qualifies as a major character death, even if they've come back already
in our time.

If you're new to the Taxverse, the above should give you some idea that
we're going with the present reincarnations of our POTC favorites, but
it's not quite that simple. When Will and Jack remembered who they used
to be, they ended up with both personalities sharing space in their
heads, and it's been pretty much like that all 'round. Oh, yeah, and
Jack works for the IRS now. More details in the prior stories - order
is: "And Taxes," "Taxes 2 - Past Life Hangover," "Repression, Obsession,
and Past Life Regression," and "Die Hard with Pirates."

POVs in 5A: Will, Will, Jack, Jack, a little Liz, and a tiny bit of
Giles.

Oh, yeah, did I mention the Buffy: The Vampire Slayer crossover? 'Cause
Halloween is one. Wink.

POVs in 5B: Will, Will, Jack, Jack, Greg, James, Liz, and [SPOILER].

* * *

TAXES 5B: DAY OF THE DEAD

* * *
"Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes."
--Benjamin Franklin
"... however, death doesn't get worse every year."
--Unknown
* * *

Previously...

"...By the by, we think it's still the time of year getting to us.
Today, and tomorrow for some, is the Day of the Dead."

"Dia de los Muertos," Will replied. "Right. Yeah, makes as much sense as
anything." Shivered. "Ooh. My feet are cold."

"Going to be chilly today after the storm. I'll go get the fireplace
going."

"Good plan."

"Squeak!" agreed Hector, untwisting from the bed-frame, and crawling up
on Jack's shoulder once he'd shrugged on a robe. Humming "A Pirate's
Life for Me," Jack wandered out into the living room, igniting the
fireplace, and moving to the windows. Letting in the filtered sunlight,
he blinked twice, and then screamed like a girl.

Which is pretty much what one does when a skeletal face is peering in
one's window.

* * *

The Mad Fangirl proudly presents
Taxes 5B - Day of the Dead

* * *
5B, Part 1: Fiesta
* * *

Sparrow's instincts surged protectively, Jack's hand going to a hip that
held no sword. But then, one of them realized...

//...paint. It's paint...//

The black-lipped mouth curved in a grin, and then the skeleton began
laughing, near soundless through the glass. He doubled over with it and
Jack had the chance to study him.

The cowboy hat was the real tip-off.

"Norton."

Still wearing only a robe and a ferret, Jack headed outside, stopping
just to scoop a sword off the kitchen floor. Slipping out the back door
and the yard gate, he came around behind Norton and leveled the sword at
his neck.

"Oh, Jimmy?"

Greg must have sensed the sword, for he straightened and turned slowly.
Then he looked Jack up and down and started laughing again, so hard he
fell on his rear. That was all it took for the humor of the situation to
get through to Jack as well, and he laughed so that he staggered and had
to lean on his windowpane.

"H-how often," said Greg, when he could speak again, "Do I get the
chance to do something like *that* t' you? I mean, c'mon." He blinked.
"That a ferret?"

"No."

"Okay then."

"Squeak!"

"Shush, you," Jack said, absently, giving Greg a long look. The
black-and-white painted skull pattern he wore looked disturbingly
familiar...of course. A Mexican holiday inspired by traditions both
Spanish...and Aztec. Otherwise, crisp black jeans-

//...irons them, I'll bet...//

- and a cowboy shirt, part solid black, part striped grey and white.
Looked damn good, actually.

//...nearly as handsome a skeleton as I was meself...//

A disturbing memory, but one Byrd felt drawn to - that sore-tooth
feeling again. Later. For now-

"-You're starin'," Greg pointed out.

"I think I can be excused," Jack replied, allowing just a bit of
innuendo into his tone. His eyes narrowed. "Liz put you up to this,
didn't she?"

"I did tell you - momma used t' paint my face for Day of the Dead. 'S a
pretty big deal all across the Southwest. So I was gonna go to the
festival like this anyhow. But, well, as to peekin' in the window..." A
bright volley of flashes went off, causing Hector to hiss. Mostly, they
centered on Jack holding a sword and wearing a bathrobe.

"Yeah," Liz said, lowering the camera. "That was me."

"Minx! Where'd ye *come* from?"

"Hell itself spat me back out?" she suggested with a wink.

"Taken, love. Try another."

"If you must know, I was hiding behind the magnolia shrub."

"Not quite as poetic," and Greg was James again, "but it's difficult to
argue with results." Jack shrugged, accepting the inevitable. At least
it wouldn't go up in Greg's office; folk might question why he had a
half-naked picture of the firm's IRS auditor, Jack's preferences being
well known.

Will, more sensibly in sweats, chose that moment to poke his head out
the front door. "If you guys want to come inside, I just put some coffee
on."

Coffee, and, as it turned out, bagels, with the option of smoked
whitefish or berry cream cheese. It was one of the new things about Will
that Jack loved, his gourmet tendency. Whether he was cooking or not,
Will paid *attention* to food. Breakfast began oddly harmonious, too,
even with Jack Byrd and Greg Norton in the same room. Jack decided he
was still sleepy enough to be off his game. Greg, being military, had
probably been up and running, literally, hours before, but that might
have left him hungry enough to be off his. There was the occasional
half-hearted exchange...

"You sure you can eat that fish? Hasn't been barbecued."

Greg replying, mouth full, "Mrmph."

They really should have paid more attention to Will and Liz, chatting
happily over their coffee cups. Sleepy Jack, though, had tunnel vision
for his own brew, and hardly registered Liz describing the nearby Dia de
los Muertos festival and her plans for the day.

"You know, Jack and I should go, too!"

"Yeah! You know what? You should come with us!"

"Wha-?"

"Mrmf-?"

Twin doe-eyed regards so powerful that Hector, perched behind Jack's
chair, whimpered. Jack and Greg had no chance whatsoever.

Thus it was they found themselves, all four, parking Liz's Jeep at
Seventh and Carmilla Streets, Jack's attempt at starting a round of
Ninety-Nine Bottles of Rum on the Wall unsuccessful. Which, he supposed,
might have been  just as well - there were easier ways to discover
whether or not Greg kept a gun in his girlfriend's glove compartment.
Greg looked frustrated, somehow, all the same, and Jack wondered at it a
little because he didn't think he could take most of the credit.

As they closed their doors, Jack held his an extra second after hearing
a muffled "squeak." Well, if Hector didn't get back to the Jeep by the
time they left, it'd teach him a thing or two about hitching rides.
Strains of music drifted over the buildings.

"Mariachi?"

"Yeah, should be," Greg replied. He smiled. "Should have a whole range
of music. Ranchera, if we're lucky."

"You even like *Mexican* country music?" He shot Liz a sidelong glance.
"You *sure* you can marry this man?"

"Hey, I'm limiting country to half the play list at the wedding."

"Half!?"

"Does this mean you won't go?" asked Greg hopefully.

"Does that mean I'm invited?" Jack smirked.

"That's it," Greg said to Liz. "We're having a cash bar."

"Oh, come on, Greg. Your family'd disown you."

"Jack didn't know that!"

The first they saw of the fair were the police cars and sawhorses that
blocked Carmilla at Ninth. One of the cars was manned, and Norton traded
nods with the grizzled veteran inside. Then they shouldered through a
small crowd gathered before the first stage, where the mariachis stood
playing. They were all made up too, and the guitarist wore it especially
well...Jack caught his eye and the other man grinned, winked.

Then something bright, flapping...he looked over Will's head at the
multicolored hanging curtains made of many intricate paper cuttings.
>From the fair booths to the buildings they ran, and hung down from the
streetlights. There were abstract designs, animals...but most were
skeletons engaging in various activities. Eating, drinking, playing
trumpets, getting married...

Crewing a sailing ship...

He caught his love's sleeve. "Will," he murmured, moving his head so
slightly in that direction.

"Bit high up for you?"

"Not for me, love. But a bit public."

Horns and guitar weaving through the background, they came next upon the
first food booths. Jack marked the taco stands, in case there weren't
any farther down, and there was roasted corn, as well, and bread from
the local bakeries. This neighborhood had a definite Mexican flavor, and
so they were sweetened, topped with sugary spreads and crusts. Some Jack
recognized as holiday-themed.

"Pan de muerte," he said, eyeing rolls topped with bone-shaped crosses,
and bready skeletons with blue sugar eyes.

"Yeah," Greg said. Looking at Liz, he went on, "Y'can buy these to eat,
or for the ofrendas - the altars."

As they wandered on into the fair proper, Jack bought one of the
skeletons, and took a certain satisfaction in biting off its head. He
handed Will a foot and Will raised his eyebrows, but took it and chewed
thoughtfully.

The crowd swirled about them, others in skeleton makeup sprinkled
throughout. A reminder of death, and that today, the dead walked beside
the living. Rising again, the memory of his own bare bones, and he
lifted his right hand slightly, staring. Will caught it, breaking his
introspection in the best way with fingers ghosting over his palm.

"Angst," Will murmured with a grin, and Jack smiled a little. Then Will
turned to Greg with, "Sorry - you were saying?"

"Yeah - so today's the first of November and the day to honor los
angelitos - children's souls," he replied, Will and Liz both looking to
the cowboy. And maybe Jack was a little interested - there was the off
chance that Greg knew something he didn't. "The second's technically for
the adults, but this fair's only one day, and there'll be altars out for
everyone."

"Yesterday we frightened off the angry dead," Jack responded. "Today's
for honoring the ones we *want* to have come visit."

"Exactly," Norton said. "I knew there was something beyond figures and
that old miscreant in your head, but it isn't as though you make it
known often." Ah, only the Commodore turned such an elegant insult, but
Jack noted how his hands and body stilled when Norrington spoke.
Something was odd, slightly off, carried over from the last evening, and
Jack's suspicions heightened when Liz took her fianc�e's hand.
Patience...if he pressed now, the two would close ranks, but perhaps Liz
would confide in Will later.

Meantime, arts and crafts abounded, and Jack picked up a handful of
small pewter beads worked into skulls with crossbones attached. Picked
up and paid for, much to the chagrin of the pirate that was still so
close to the surface.

//...oh, c'mon, he wasn't even *lookin'*...//

//...you know I don't mind indulging our need for larceny, but not with
local artisans, okay?...// When Jack's eyes refocused, he saw Will
watching him.

"Tempting, huh?" the kid said with a smirk.

"Kinda. But I want these guys to make a living. I was just getting the
rest of me on board." The smirk softened into an approving smile that
was very Turner.

//...the sort that warms even as it annoys...//

Jack let out a brief, amused breath, and Will looked at him. "You gonna
let me in on it?"

"Uh-uh."

"'Kay."

"Hey, guys?" Liz, from the booth across. "What do you think? All I get
from him is "whatever you say, dear." Greg looked vaguely offended as
Liz held up a gold necklace with a swirling, abstract pattern.

"I like it," Will said decisively. "Jack?"

"Whatever you say, dear."

Will snorted.

"You walked right into that one," Liz observed, and Will admitted it
with a shrug. She made her purchase and they moved on, Greg fingering a
bolo tie clasp but then letting it go. "We must be near the center of
the fair," Will said. "We've gone four blocks, and it was, what, eight,
right?"

"Yeah, I think so..."

They wandered under awnings, and came eventually to a pavilion in the
middle of the blocked street, where several altars were set up back to
back. Tributes to departed souls, all, some manned, some not, some roped
off and some free to access. Flat or layered, some in patterns traced by
dyed grains or sand, but all laden with pictures and other memories.
With these rested offerings of fruit, pan de muerte, and that which was
beloved in life. Norton was leading now, and he stopped at one altar
with a light green overhang.

"Mayri! Hi. How've you been?"

"Good, Greg. Been good." The woman sitting at the chair by this altar
took a sip of soda, then stood to shake Greg's hand. Jack, Will, and Liz
looked on, and then Greg introduced them. Liz was first, and Mayri said,
"Good to meet you. I heard Greg and Jill got divorced - she was never
right for him anyway. You two look good together."

"So, all this for Rey?" Greg said, looking over the altar. A life-sized
sugar skull wore a policeman's cap, and on tiers layered with colored
grain rested fruit and candy bars. "I remember - he always had a
Snickers or something..."

"Yeah. This is for Rey."

"Reynaldo Ortiz was one of my officers when I was on the force," Greg
explained. "He was killed in the line."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, ma'am," said Jack, taking her hand and
brushing it gently with his lips. She giggled.

"Oh, you're one of those 'flirt with the widow' types. You want some
flirting, you introduce me to your friend, okay?"

"Ye wound me, love. Really, ye do." Jack looped an arm around Will's
waist. "Anyway, Will's taken."

"Oh, that's how it is, huh?" She shrugged. "Guess I'll just live with
it." Greg, meanwhile, was dipping into a jar of mini-Snickers set out
for passers-by. "Go ahead, all of you, if you want. Take one." Jack and
Will did, and then Mayri engaged Liz in conversation. Jack noticed Greg
watching the women with an odd, haunted expression, making a sizable
dent in the Snickers as he did so.

Something in Greg's manner began to trouble Jack, maybe the unblinking
stare. He waited for a lull in the conversation, and then said, "Mayri,
it's been lovely to meet you, but we really should get moving."

"No, it's cool. You guys feel free to call or come over whenever, all
right?"

"It was ... really good to see you again, Mayri," Greg said, and the
woman shivered.

"Huh. You know, for a minute there, you sounded just like Rey...You have
a good day, guys."

As they moved away from the altar pavilion, Liz gave Greg a look. "You
know, I ought to kick your butt for that, but I've got a weird feeling
something else was going on besides you and Jack both flirting with the
Widow Ortiz..."

Greg looked at her, looked at the candy in his hand, blinked, and tossed
the candy bar in a nearby bin. "Liz, I don't remember the last minute
and a half, and neither does the Commodore."

* * *

It was a disturbing thing to realize, that was for sure.

//...truly sorry...// Greg felt something like chagrin from the other
soldier inside him.

//...'sokay. blindsided both of us...and if it is him, then it's a
chance...//

Removing to a quiet alley off the crowded main street, the four huddled
together. The green awning was still in view out of the corner of his
eye.

"You okay?" Will was asking. "What just happened?"

"Not sure..."

Inside, part of him was calling. //Rey?//

Echoed by the rest of him. //...Officer Ortiz?...// Greg felt the
Commodore drift, searching for a trace.

He watched Liz watch him, monochrome face paint reflected in her eyes.
She said, slowly, "Rey Ortiz' murder was never solved. He was chasing a
suspect with his partner and the man twisted an ankle, went down. He
heard a shot from around the corner, and when he got there..."

"Rey was dead," Greg finished.

//Rey?// //...Officer Ortiz?...//

The alleyway felt so cold all of a sudden...

'Sir?'

"James Norrington, answer me this instant!" Elizabeth, beginning to
penetrate the black, but far away...it was Liz saying, "Greg?" and
sounding scared that brought him back.

"How...how long?" Greg asked. He was on his knees now.

"What? Your eyes glassed over and you went to your knees, and that's
about it..." Greg half-expected some salacious comment from Jack after
that, to break the tension if nothing else, but it wasn't forthcoming.
The ex-pirate's eyes were unusually sober.

"Rey Ortiz died in this alley," Greg murmured. "My God, his altar's
right over there and he died right here..." Which, of course, he should
not know...

"You didn't work that case, did you, Greg?" Liz, again.

"No, I didn't..."

"We should get you out of here," Will said, and moved to take his arm.

"No." Greg allowed Will to close a hand around his arm, but moved not at
all. Then Jack was looking into his eyes, and the pure, cold menace...

//...he *is* a pirate, still...//

"Let him go," Jack said. "Right now."

Greg just shook his head, sighed slightly. "Shoulda known you'd've
figured it. I'm me right now, though. I mean, we're us...oh, hell. Point
is, I *heard* Rey this time, but then he went away again."

"Is anyone else completely creeped out by this?" Jack, arms spread
unevenly, turning.

"Yeah," Liz, whose warm hand had replaced Will's. "But if he feels this
to be his duty, he shall not be moved in it. This I know."

"You do know me," James admitted.

Then Elizabeth's face set. "Rey has time only to tell us what he must. I
will not share either of you with some spirit."

"Understood."

//...Officer Ortiz? We're here...//

//...Rey?...oh, I know...// Greg turned his eyes to the green awning and
thought of Mayri.

...falling...dark...

'sir...thank you...both of you...'

'don't touch it...*careful*'

Greg opened his eyes and found himself at ground level. "Don't touch it,
he says. Who the hell taught who how to handle evidence?" There, sunk
into the pavement, half-covered in plaster...

The bullet that killed Rey Ortiz. The last thing he'd ever seen and the
piece of evidence they'd never found.

"Greg? Is that..."

"Yeah, hon, it's me. Rey's...gone." It was a weird, bereft feeling and
so they suppressed it ruthlessly. Cell phone out,
speed-dialing...."Jill? 'S Greg. You need to get some guys over here -
found something on an old case."

As he explained the parts that wouldn't get him committed, he heard Jack
say, "Okay. We done with ghosts now?"

Will, sighing, "I don't know why we expected today to be any less
strange than Halloween. I mean, we always were weirdness magnets. So,
now what?"

Greg snapped his phone shut. "Well, I don't know about you all, but I'm
starved. I could go with maybe ten tacos." He and the Commodore both
enjoyed the stares that followed, they decided. He shrugged, gave a
slight grin.

"Yeah," Liz said, smiling and sliding an arm about his waist. "No
offense, Rey, but we're alive, and we're going to enjoy it. You go hang
with your wife."

"Widow, technically," Jack pointed out.

"Jack! He could still *be* here."

"So what's your point?"

Greg let the conversation wash over him, hearing the Commodore speak.

//...that was not an easy thing...but it was well done, Greg...//

//...yeah. But, dammit...why can I give it up for him, for the job, for
duty, and not for you? Only one other person I *want* walkin' in my
skin, and I can't...James, I'm sorry...//

//...it will come...//

//...okay...//

But he had a few things he wanted to try in the meantime.

* * *

"So that's it?" Jack said, hanging back with Will, who watched him feign
interest in a gold necklace that disappeared and reappeared in his hands
a few times. Okay, maybe it was more than feigned, but still. "'I was
possessed, let's go get tacos?'"

"'I was a skeleton, let's loot the treasure?'"

"*Entirely* different." Jack turned to the bracelets, eyeing one with
squarish spiral links. "And the thing is, this isn't *it* either. The
thing Pearl wanted me to know, or do, about Greg - it's still...not
yet."

Turner was still so close, it took but an instant to confirm..."Our
fires implied much the same." This time they'd consciously given Turner
voice, to catch Jack's attention, and when he looked up, Will smiled,
layering the look with both comfort and heat. Gratifying, the sharpening
of Jack's focus down to him. Good. Byrd was beginning to show a penchant
for brooding that Sparrow had rarely evidenced.

//...and that's my department...//

//...damn straight...//

"You know the problem with public places? They're just so...public." Oh
yeah. Hooked. But nowhere to reel him in. Jack did have a point. Still,
Will stepped close behind, running his hand over Jack's as it traced a
bracelet, slowly.

"I haven't got a problem with public displays of affection."

"Yeah, but the authorities might have a problem with public throwing you
down and fucking you senseless."

Oh, damn. Teasing worked both ways. And then there was Jack's hellacious
competitive streak. Not to mention Jack's rear rubbing his...Will bit
his lip, his other hand tightening on Jack's waist.  Each turned their
head slightly and shared a long kiss that left both with a little
difficulty walking.

A low whistle interrupted them. Oddly enough, it wasn't Liz, but the
jewelry vendor. The man with longish grey hair just smiled.

"Don't mind me. This is better than cable."

Will felt his cheeks warm just a bit. Public. Right.

//...shyer about some things then I, and yet sometimes so shameless...//

//...well, that's us, right? Captain Contradiction...//

The feeling from Turner was closest to an amused snort. Will smiled and
sighed just a little when he felt Jack rub a small circle on his back,
through his shirt. "Can you blame me?" Jack said, and Will felt him
shrug.

"Not a bit, son. He got a brother?"

"...I think his dad is straight," Jack replied.

"Oh, ouch." But the man smirked anyway. "You look pretty good, but
you're no spring chicken yourself, you know."

"Yeah, yeah."

They didn't end up buying anything, but Jack took a card and shoved it
in his back pocket. As they turned to wander back to the northernmost
food area, Jack slid a hand in Will's, then squeezed it and yelped. He
spun and Will half-turned, only to find the vendor with his hands
clasped innocently behind his back.

Will felt no impulse to defend Jack's honor. //...karma...// he thought,
and Turner agreed, while Jack shot the man a cockeyed suspicious look,
then led them back to Greg and Liz. Greg was downing a large spiced
cocoa, and Will saw him eye Jack, who was rubbing his backside, with a
look that clearly said, 'I don't want to know.' Liz, though, eyed the
offended area and reached over, while Jack shied back, making a great
show of affront, Sparrow-style, arms akimbo.

"Elizabeth! What would yer fianc�e say?"

"He's probably going to snicker into his cocoa. I think you sat on
something."

"That one's just way too easy." He caught Will's eye and grinned.

"Seriously, though." Deft fingers plucked and she pulled away a tiny
silver pin, a design worked on the end.

"I suppose I'm a pirate all over," Jack said with a shrug.

Norton frowned. "I did once swear to hang your thieving arse. I may have
been fairly drunk at the time, but I don't believe I meant it
literally." And oh, Will was glad he didn't have a mouthful of whatever
went up Liz' nose at that one. He contented himself with just raising
his eyebrows. Jack, of course, took it in stride, though he did look as
though he was trying to work Jill into the conversation somehow to even
things out. Greg's former colleague and ex-wife in this life had been a
former *male* colleague in the last, though Will hadn't twigged to it
till he'd seen her again. It was a little more obvious when one recalled
her full name was Gillian.

Jack, meanwhile, pulled Will aside and murmured, "I don't recall him
getting the last word quite so often before."

"Well, he grew up with two brothers this time. It's gotta count for
something. And you did get all the best exit lines."

"Yeah, but today isn't really conducive to that sort of thing. I mean,
getting possessed had nothing to do with me and I'm just glad it was
a..."

"...friendly ghost?"

"Yeah. So, what am I going to say? 'You'll always remember this as the
day you went shopping with...'"

"Hey, it's got a ring to it. And don't forget, we got some culture too."
Culture that had turned creepy, sure, but still.

When they rejoined the conversation, Jack made one more attempt, which
Will appreciated, though he knew it wouldn't work. "So, nobody's going
to talk about oh, I don't know, Greg getting possessed by the spirit of
a dead cop?"

"Look, Jack, no offense, but you, me, and close personal discussions
don't really go together, okay?"

Jack shrugged as if to say he'd given it his best shot. Will, meanwhile,
recalled Jack saying at his barbecue that they weren't friends, really.
They shared a common characteristic, but how much was it worth? A twinge
of sadness, and then...

//...hold to the faith you had then, my own self. believe that it shall
be enough...//

Will closed his eyes and sighed, buoyed by Turner's resolve. //...thank
you...//

//...whenever there be a need...// Oh, and that thought was laden with
sensual energy...was he mistaken, or was Turner offering to switch just
because Will got such a charge out of it...

//...no mistake...//

//...wow, you came a long way in a day...//

//...// Just a feeling, but a feeling of Turner wanting to help, to
heal...

A hand on Will's shoulder started him from his reverie. "Hey, whenever
you're done talking to yourself..."

"Oh, sorry, Liz."

"No problem. I know how it goes. Anyway, I hung onto that pin. I'm
guessing you're a little too pirate to give it back, so..."

"Thanks," he said, eyeing the silver and starting a bit when he realized
the design worked into the head was a tiny coyote. Head whipping around,
he found the booth again, a block or two down, but he didn't see the
vendor.

Not that he expected to.

//Huh,// he thought, pushing the pin through the end of the scarf he'd
wrapped around his neck. And was it his imagination, or was that a yip
in the distance?

* * *

Once everyone was done with lunch, they headed back down the fair and to
the car, Greg waving again at Mayri Ortiz, Jack giving the altar
pavilion as wide a berth as possible. Aztec dancers had taken up the
open area at the beginning and all paused to eye the performers with
their long-plumed headdresses. Eventually they left the press of the
crowd, walking the two empty blocks back to the car.

Liz clicked open the doors and Jack slid in, heard a "Squeak," turned,
and stared. There behind him was Hector the ferret, but Hector was now
wearing a tiny black sombrero. It appeared to be affixed to his collar.
He was also nibbling on a wheel of fried dough.

Jack nudged Will, who also turned and looked in the way-back.

"How do you suppose..."

"I have no idea."

Liz looked, and said simply, "That may be the cutest thing I've ever
seen."

"He's housebroken, or he's earmuffs."

"Greg!"

* * *

Will and Jack were dropped back at Jack's house, and then Liz and Greg
were home. She steered him up the stairs, straight to his kitchen table,
poured him a shot of whiskey, and slid it over. He downed it with his
eyes closed, then took her hands as she sat down.

"How are you, really?" she asked.

"Well, this whole Rey thing doesn't have me as messed up as the boys
seem to think." He looked at her earnestly. "You'll understand when y'
meet Mom at Thanksgiving. She raised me t' believe there's more out
there than we see every day, that this kinda stuff happens, and more
than we realize." One hand let go and found its way to stroke Liz'
blonde hair. She leaned in with a sigh.

"I can't believe Jack thinks you're such a tightass." That same hand
gave a playful swat and she kicked his ankle.

"I kinda am, hon, and if the Commodore's any indication, I come by it
honestly. Still, doesn't mean I can't be open-minded." With his free
hand, he pulled in a jar of cold cream and a cloth, and set about
removing the paint. Liz grabbed a towel from the stove handle and put it
around his neck to save the shirt.

"I'm sensing a gigantic 'but' hanging over this conversation."

"I'm sensing I could say something here that'd get me smacked."

Liz snickered. "I have a perfect 'but,' and don't change the subject.
Level with me, baby."

"It's just...y'know, I helped train Rey Ortiz. I liked the guy. But it's
not like we were close. And he just walks in and takes over, but me an'
James...he can talk and that's it. He's okay with it; I think he's
tryin' your Zen approach to the whole thing. We both know, though, that
we need to find this balance within." He blinked. "See? That was him
again. Liz, girl, this is killin' me, keepin' him back, and I don't know
how to stop it."

"Are you certain it's yourself and not James? Perhaps it's an issue of
timing, or accord between you both."

"I think it's me, beautiful," Greg answered Elizabeth. "An' Norrington's
not pushing, so I've got to. I'm...we're...gonna try to do this the
cowboy way. I'm getting my truck and headin' into the mountains with
some food, a bottle of whiskey, and plenty of old-school Johnny Cash.
And maybe something moody with a lot of strings. We still like that
kinda stuff."

"You want to do this alone, don't you?"

Makeup mostly gone, he held her hands again. "Like I said, hon. The
cowboy way."

"Okay. You go get in touch with yourselves. But you be home Sunday
night."

"Wild horses couldn't drag us away."

* * *

Greg and Liz drove away, leaving Will and Jack on the doorstep. The two
were touching constantly as Jack slid the key in the lock. Something
about the way his hand moved made the act almost obscene. Then they were
inside and embracing, and Jack shivered. This turned Will on, of course,
but the temperature of the other man's hands indicated it might not all
be from passion.

"Hold a moment," Turner whispered through Smith's lips. "We've something
we'd like to try that may warm you up." Slipping away, Will opened a
bottle and a tin, and set a pot to heating. He heard the furnace kick on
as he did so. "Okay, that'll work too."

"And then there's always body heat," Jack said, sliding up behind him,
hardness evident against Will's back as he stood at the stove.

"We're getting there. But first..." Will pulled out a mug and poured.
"Hot buttered rum."

"Oh my god. I love you."

"Me or the rum?"

"Still Byrd over here. So you by a hair."

"Cute."

"Hey, you set yourself up."

"Yeah," he allowed, pouring himself a mug. He took a sip, then unwound
the scarf, slowly. Jack responded by undoing half his buttons. Shoes
were next, then shirts entirely. Jeans came as they progressed, mugs in
hand, to the bedroom. Mugs were emptied and set aside as Will came to
rest on the bed, only his socks left on. He noticed, though, that Jack
left his on too, and smiled. Then he put his arms about his lover and
tried to pull him close, only to meet unexpected resistance.

And there, the unmistakable look of a plan on the once-pirate's face.

"Okay, what're you up to?"

"Well, it strikes me..." Sparrow's voice, teasing Will in such good
places..."there's something we haven't done all the while we've been
back, and I do recall us enjoying it thoroughly...

"Mmm?" Fingers tracing Jack's thigh, Will watching his length twitch at
the contact.

Jack looked at him, pirate's grin on his lips. "Give us a show, love."

//...oh, yes...but...//

"As the captain bids, but would you mind us binding your hands, that you
may not take matters into them?"

"Ah, hoped you'd forgotten that bit." But from his still-present smile,
he really hadn't. Will slid from the bed to pull Jack's scarf from their
pile of clothes. He bound Jack's hands to the bed-frame, with knots good
enough to hold most men that weren't Captain Jack Sparrow. Still decent,
though, for their indecent purposes.

Will stood back, took a moment to truly appreciate the sight before him.
Jack bound and reclining on pillows, arms above his head. And somehow,
Jack in bonds always seemed more in control than ever. It had to be his
smile.

//...damn him...//murmured the part of Will that was Turner, but fondly.

//...yeah...let's see what we can do about that...//

They swung into the bed, reclining alongside and slightly lower down.
//...now, I recall you wishing to yield...and I've an idea with
that...// At Turner's urgings, Smith relaxed, drifted, felt his older
self take his arms to the shoulders, and pull him back, current-like, to
the rest.

//...oh...I get it...ohhh...// "Ohhh..." Will sighed, as his hands moved
of his other self's volition.

//...well, you like to put yourself in my hands. So, put your hands in
my hands, and I shall...//

"...mmm..." Hands his and not-his traced circles on Will's stomach, and
his hips began moving, slowly, in counter time. Eyes opened again,
lazily, and turned, to watch Jack watching him.

"Lad," he said, slightly hoarse, "Are you two doing what I think ye're
doing?"

"Mm," Will assented, and heard him become Byrd again.

"That is so damn hot." And now Jack's neck was swaying, Sparrowlike,
eyes fixed on Will's tip tracing its lazy, glistening circles.  Turner
moved their hands oh, so close, only to knead Will's thighs and make his
other self whimper. This continued, one-handed, and the other hand was
rising to his lips. Obligingly, Will sucked his own index finger slowly,
hardness rising higher in sympathy.

Turner pulled their fingers away, their other hand from their thigh, and
ran fingers and palms over their abdomen, nearing...nearing...not quite
reaching...Will rolled his head side to side and ended watching Jack
again. Jack was rigid now, breathing oh so hard, eyes tracking the
movements of Will's hands. Every so often, cock, shoulders, or hips
would twitch. Arms strained at their bonds.

One of Will's hands, now, straying just an inch or two, brushing Jack's
thigh for a satisfying moan, then pulling back, and it was Jack's turn
to whimper. That *sound...*

//...oh...now?...//

//...oh, yes...//

Turner took them in hand, beginning slowly. "Ahhh...yeah...mm..."
Smith's voice lowered in pitch as Turner grasped tighter, sped
up...Will's eyes slid shut, but he could still hear Jack's hard, heavy
breath, hear the pine-log frame creak. Hands moving fast tight knowing
what he liked, exactly what they liked, exactly how to
oh..."Ohh...oh...nnh...ah...please...yes...ah...AH!"

Warmth, slick, pulsing all across his chest, and this had to be the
first time he'd made himself come shouting.

"Ahhh..." he sighed, opening his eyes again, wiping himself with a
pillowcase. Then he considered Jack.

Oh, yes. The look in his eyes, torn between sincere appreciation and
bloody murder. Not to mention the manhood leaking and straining fit to
burst.

Well, desperate times...Will crawled up Jack's side to low, guttural
moaning, and positioned, hovered. Moaning became needy growls...and then
Jack was silent, gasping, as Will swallowed him whole, shuddering,
pulsing, and spilling down Will's throat in seconds.

"Gah..." from Jack, afterward, as he tried unwisely to speak. There
wasn't much higher praise.

Will pulled away, wiping his mouth on that same pillowcase and tossing
it over the side, then falling atop Jack in a sleepy embrace. They
kissed, long and slow, with some of Jack's taste still on Will's tongue.
"I ...guess," Jack yawned, once they broke apart, "that watching you
wouldn't be near as much fun if ye both weren't such a damnable tease."

"You know you love it."

"Mm," Jack allowed, then flicked his fingers, twisted his wrists, and
returned the embrace in kind.

* * *

Night fell on Will and Jack, abed early, only to wake ravenous later
that eve.

Night fell on Liz, lifting weights and watching the Sopranos on DVD.

Night fell on a truck in the woods, door ajar, on a tent not unpacked,
on a whiskey bottle leaking into the dirt, and on absolutely no one at
all.

* * *
5B, Part 2: Memory
* * *

Warm...comfortable...floating...

//...where are we?...//

//...do not know...wrong...something...//

A voice, calm, measured. He listened...

"...feel good, relaxed. Hear my voice, focus on my voice, there are no
other sounds..."

Yeah...Norrington wasn't sound, not really. Just thoughts, even if they
sounded like sounds sometimes...

"...name's Celia. I'm here to help you. You trust me..."

Why not? She seemed...nice...

//...Greg...something is wrong...//

"...want to help you remember...need to warn you..."

"...Yeah," he murmured. "Something's wrong..."

"You're in danger," she continued. "Someone very close to you is a
terrible danger to you."

"...well, sure...work...there's..." He paused, not sure he should say
more, though not sure why. He heard a murmur, 'more,' and felt a tiny
pinch in his arm, and then the sensation seemed to float away.

"You want to know who. I can tell you. You need to know."

Oh, good. He'd been wondering.

"Jack. You know Jack. You remember Jack. Remember Jack then."

The Commodore seemed so far away, but Greg had his memories now, though
distant, vague. He remembered Jack then. Rogue, lawless man, nemesis,
pirate...

"History repeats. You see it happen. He was a danger to you then. He's a
danger to you now."

Her voice filled his world, calm, implacable.

"Jack is a danger to you. Jack is a danger to Liz. Jack is a danger to
Elizabeth."

Her speech fit the pauses of his heartbeat.

"Elizabeth needs you. Jack will take you from her. History repeats. Jack
killed you then. Remember."

"...wha...no...I..."

Could it be? It was Celia, he trusted her, but could it be?

And despite the fact that there were no other sounds, a rough-soft voice
seemed to whisper, "Ask him, love. Ask him if the last sight he ever saw
in life was Jack Sparrow's pistol. For, 'twas mine."

"...Yes..." Greg murmured, almost a sob. "...No...how..."

The not-voice was gone, and he heard Celia again. "I have everything you
need. I'm here to help you. You'll do what you have to. You have to
protect her."

//...Norrington? Help...she's making sense...I don't think that
should...Norrington?...James?...//

Another pinch, and he was floating again.

* * *

//...Greg? GREG!...//

It was so dark...so hard to reach him...and so hard to hear, but
something was terribly wrong. Someone was whispering poison to Greg,
forcing it down him softly, sweetly...Commodore James Norrington
strained with all the soul that was his and his other's, a desperate
reaching. At the last, he tried what he had not dared before, to take
the body from his other self by force. He found himself blocked as
always. Greg floated just beyond his grasp.

//God help us,// he thought, despairing.

'Not God,' came a whisper, 'but would you take a dead cop?'

//Officer Ortiz? I thought you were gone...//

'I knew I'd be needed. I've been watching. I can help. I owe you both,
Commodore.'

//Ortiz, what's happening to us?//

'Someone's trying to use you. You can fight it. You can help Greg fight
it.'

//How? Please, how?//

'I'm sorry, but...pain. And death. And knowledge. You carry a memory,
death and sadness. I'm dead and I can hear it. I can help you unlock it
now. It can help you fight.'

There was no choice. His duty was clear.

//Do it. And no matter the pain, Ortiz, I thank you.//

'Then come with me and remember. Always remember.'

* * *

Will rose earliest, yawning. "Jack?"

"Mm?"

"I'm gonna go to my studio. Turner's really curious about the welding
stuff, and I haven't made anything in a while."

"'Kay," Jack murmured sleepily. "I think I'll just..." He rolled over
and felt sleep reach for him again, soft and warm. When he woke, Will
was gone. Jack spared a moment thinking of Will in coveralls and an
apron, holding an arc-welder, and resolved to go with him next time.

Toes hugged by fleece slippers, he padded to the living room and opened
the blinds to let the sun in. A tingle, suddenly, at the base of his
spine, and he squinted, saw nothing outside but green.

//...wha?...// said Sparrow, sleepily.

//...nothing. Just had a funny feeling...//

//...then stay sharp...// the pirate thought back, suddenly more alert.

//...what does it mean?...//

//...Danger? Opportunity? Sex? Not a clue, me own...something,
anyway...//

Well, might as well enjoy the wait, then. Will had kindly left a thermos
of coffee and most of the paper, and Jack settled in to read.

* * *

In the coastal scrub, a man lay waiting, gazing in the window.
Camouflaged, all in green, Greg looked through the scope, Jack's head
directly in the crosshairs. A part of him still reached desperately for
the Commodore, but it was a blind grasping.

Then, suddenly, he was there, with a message that made something go cold
in Greg's gut.

//...always...Always remember...//

But...it was going to hurt, he knew, and she...someone...who was
Celia?...had told him how to keep that pain away this time...

//...don't...don't want to...//

Calm, insistent. As insistent as she had been, but different. Difficult,
and right.

//...it's time, Greg. It's time. It can free you. I have. You must...//

//...but, he killed us...//

//...that is a lie, all the more powerful for the grain of truth
within...we can save ourselves from this folly...we must, for *her* sake
if not our own...//

Her. Elizabeth.

//...we serve others...//

Duty. That pain he understood, and had to accept.

//...Yes...//

//...all right...//

//...then I need your full attention, soldier...//

Greg moved his finger off the trigger, became a statue, waiting.  When
it came, it rushed through him with gale force.

Always. Remember.

You will always remember this as the day...

The gun clattered from nerveless hands.

* * *

It was fair to say that the last thing Jack Byrd expected to see was
Greg Norton on his lawn, in makeup, for the second time in as many days.
That it was Greg in combat fatigues and camouflage face-paint only added
to the strangeness.

There was a bizarre magnetism to Greg as he stood, watching Jack walk
towards him, and Jack suddenly felt as though his hand was on a door he
feared to open.

//...and since when have we ever feared the unknown?...//

But Sparrow was afraid too.

//...we fear pain and sadness. We feel that in him, now...//

Beyond Greg lay memory, they knew, and the bane of all the brethren.
Regret. But they moved forward. Behind them, too, they felt Pearl
urging. Now, yes, now, go to him... So, this was what she'd meant Jack
to know, to do.

Unblinking, Greg reached out a hand and placed it on Jack's shoulder. He
looked into Jack's eyes.

"Always remember," he said, and it was impossible to tell which one of
him said it.

Always remember.

//Oh, God.//

You will always remember this as the day...

* * *

Port Royal, Jamaica...

~Captain~ Jack Sparrow heard the familiar click of boots down the stone
stairs of the stockade. He knew the Commodore's footfalls on those
steps, had known the sound long since.

Hmm. This was altogether too common an experience, then.

Jack eyed the Commodore up and down, and was just a bit startled to find
grey in his brown eyebrows. His own hair had a graying streak, true, but
his nemesis was not allowed to get old.

"You're not allowed t' get old," Jack said. "Just so ye know."

The Commodore sighed wearily and leaned against the wall. "I suppose
this is where I make some sort of crack about how you won't be getting
any older."

"That's the game, isn't it?"

Norrington looked at him, face grave. "Not today."

Jack watched him sharply now. "So. I am to hang. No last minute rescues,
you've got Will somewhere in irons, the Empire has the Pearl under her
guns, your lovely wife hasn't pinched your spare keys..."

"No, Jack. You're not to hang." His face retained that stone set, and
Jack began truly to worry.

"What, then?" Slowly.

"Tell me, Jack. Has anyone recently asked you for the bearings to La
Isla de Muerta?"

"People ask me every other day and twice on Sundays, love. Not like I'd
tell them, as I don't generally make near-fatal mistakes twice."

"Soon you may not have that choice."

Understanding and dread. "So it's to be torture." And Norrington nodded.
"The king that desperate to fatten his coffers, then?"

Norrington shook his head.

"There are rumblings in the Americas," Norrington said. "Taxes the chief
complaint, but they have many. The Crown is growing nervous. It is
beginning to increase its forces."

"If you're telling me all this, I must truly be a dead man."

Then a jingle and a click. "I hope to avoid that," Norrington replied.
"But better we both die than give them what they want."

Jack stared. "Commodore, this is treason."

Then Norrington was an inch from his face. "Don't you think I know
that?" he hissed. "But think. Truly think about why they want this
information, and know why I cannot allow it."

Jack was no simpleton. "Oh hells. They want an army that can't be
killed, to put down their little rebellion."

"Potential rebellion, but yes." Norrington stood aside as Jack gathered
his effects. "Eight hundred odd of the most loyal subjects, of course.
Men who would hunger and thirst and long forever in the name of their
king. I fought those things, Jack, and you *were* one of them. I saw the
most vicious pirates weeping with joy even as they died, that they could
feel again. I cannot let that become of eight hundred Englishmen. I can
not."

The quiet resolve in his voice frightened Jack a great deal.

"You know the bearings too, though, don't you, for all that I tried to
confuse the way?"

"Indeed. Which is why I must accompany you. Most of those now here or
those on their way do not believe I know, but they will likely decide to
make certain."

"Could the great Commodore turn pirate, then?"

"No," Norrington replied, honestly. "Not ever. But I might, perhaps,
retire."

"And what, then, of Elizabeth?"

"The further she can get from a gentlewoman's life the better, as well
you know. Now come *on,* pirate!"

Up the stairs, to the door, when suddenly a man in uniform confronted
them.

Gillette - bloody officious, sarcastic little *twit*...! Only one thing
could save them now, and Jack dearly hoped he'd been right about it all
along...

"Sir."

"Captain Gillette."

A deep breath. "Godspeed. I, of course, was napping in your office and
saw nothing." Voice laden with emotion...he'd been right! Of course he
had, he was ~Captain~-

"Jack, *move!*"

They took off, and were below the fort, beyond it, running...Jack, for
appearances, with his pistol in Norrington's back...and then they heard
the musket fire...

"Stop that, you colossal morons! You'll hit the Commodore!"

At Norrington's sharp jerk, Jack hoped Gillette had not been too late
with that last. They ran on, but then he dared to glance over and down.
Red blossomed on Norrington's shirt, and Jack caught him as he folded to
the cliff-top field's green grass.

Oh, no.

"Tell Elizabeth..." the Commodore gasped. "Please, tell her..."

No dissembling or false promises from Jack Sparrow, by God. "She knows,
mate. She knows."

"That...she does, but tell her...anyway. She will be waiting for
you...in Tortuga..." Hands batted at his belt. "Give Will my sword,
please. I do believe it is the finest he has ever made."

"Waiting in Tortuga. You bastard. How'd ye know? How did you know that
you'd die today?"

"...Couldn't explain it, not even if I had the time..." His eyes held an
unearthly clarity. "But swear something to me. Tell only Elizabeth and
Will the truth. I would not make her a traitor's widow. Otherwise...I
died a hostage."

"You have my word." No music in Jack's voice now. It felt inappropriate.

"One last thing I ask of you, and I shall...I shall understand if
you..."  A shuddering gasp, blood dripping from his lip, where he'd bit
it. "Captain Sparrow. This is a gut wound, and you have a pistol. I
would have you end it."

Jack was unable to look anywhere but those eyes, that saw beyond this
world already.  Slowly, face grave, he lifted the pistol, aimed it at
Norrington's heart.

"I never wished the game to end this way."

His hand shook, then firmed.

"Nor...did I...wish your death...though I suspect you knew that."

The pistol's report was so loud, Jack thought he might be deaf forever,
but he heard the next whispered words.

"You will always remember this as the day I died for Jack Sparrow."

The next breath of Commodore James Norrington was his last.

"My word on that as well, James, though you did not die for me," Jack
said to the dead man. "'Twas for eight hundred Englishmen and their
immortal souls that you fell. Damn them all." His voice was rough. "Ye
were a good man and me best enemy."  His breath hitched, then gathered
in his gut.

A young man fishing on the rocks below, recently freed by the death of
the harbormaster and the terms of his will, heard the scream. All the
rage in the world seemed contained in it, and all the grief. The sound
was graven into his mind, and he remembered it all the rest of his days.

Such a sound it was, he did not notice Jack Sparrow diving off the bluff
and swimming for a boat and the open sea.

* * *

"I'm sorry, James," murmured Jack, sinking to the grassy lawn, the other
man held in a half-embrace. "I'm so sorry. I swore, and then I went and
forgot. I'm sorry..." Jack Byrd sobbed, then, once, with Jack Sparrow's
grief.

"'Sokay," Greg murmured. "You meant well. Didn't mean you had to keep it
with you past your lifetime." His cheeks were tear-tracked through the
paint. Jack stroked his hair, soothingly, as he'd do with Will, and the
other man breathed deep. "None of us wanted to remember this, myself
least of all. It was a fearsome thing. Now, though, we all will.
Somewhere, Liz is crying. I should go to her." His voice flowed between
selves, ending up Greg again.

Jack took his own shuddering breath, and then took a good look at the
man with him. "What's going on here? Really?"

"Someone shot me up with some kinda drug cocktail. Wanted me to kill
you, said you'd killed me. Seemed wrong, somehow, but it wasn't 'till I
remembered that I could really fight it. The Commodore ... I couldn't
have done it without him."

"Okay, come on. We're getting you to a hospital."

Norton struggled just a bit. "Nuh-uh. I was a cop, Jack. God knows what
kinda crap they gave me..."

Working on a hunch, Jack pulled up a sleeve. Sure enough..."Greg, you've
got finger-shaped bruises by the puncture. Nobody's going to think you
did this to yourself."

"But Elizabeth..." His voice was fainter and Norrington's again.

"Can meet us there." With concern, Jack watched his head loll and his
eyes flicker, opening again to meet Jack's own.

"Elizabeth is so lovely, isn't she?"

"Aye, the lass is a beauty..." Jack moved an arm behind, trying for
leverage.

"Though, you were always beautiful as sin yourself, Jack, did you know?"

Jack's eyes went wide and he heaved them both to their feet.  "That's
it. Hospital. Now."

* * *

On the way, he spoke to a rough-voiced Liz and left a message for Will,
whose phone was off. Blood drawn, photos taken, reports jotted on pads
to be transcribed later. Much of the latter done by Jill Norton, who'd
come as soon as she heard the call go out.

"I knew he had a sensitive job, but I never really thought..." The
police lieutenant snapped her notepad shut. "Whoever did this pumped him
full of hypnotics. I don't know a hell of a lot about this stuff, but if
I had half that crap in my system, I'd be singing my ATM pin number in
the street."

"8901," Jack replied.  Her head whipped around.

"How the..."

"Wild guess. It's the date you got divorced." A corner of his mouth
quirked up. "You mean I was right?"

"Okay, you're an ass." Her eyes flicked in the direction of Greg's room.
"Damn, Jack. If you'd told me this was going to happen yesterday, I'd
have told you the Men in Black already told me all about it, and then
I'd've called the looney bin. I know Royal Inc. got looted for some of
its technology, but I never thought he'd run into this kind of X-files
bullshit."

Ah. One of his better cover stories, if Jack did say so. Because the
police, even Greg's ex-wife, did not need to know about the little
near-attempted murder. "Hey, the way they had him dressed, it might have
been something from his days in the Army. Who knows? At least he's going
to be okay."

"Yeah..." she said. "Look. He says he doesn't remember anything, and
they tell me that's possible, but I'm not sure he's not just being his
stubborn-assed self. He's got my number. If anything comes back, could
you have him give me a call?"

Jack smiled, shrugged. "Sure."

* * *

Jack passed Liz on his way to Norton's room. Her eyes were red, but she
gave him a soft smile and then drew him into a hug.

"I'm sorry..." he murmured in her ear.

"It wasn't your fault, Jack. We all know that." And he had a feeling she
let the words cover all events. "Jack, talk to him. He's pretty down."

"You think *I'll* help? Seriously, Liz. I think it was me that brought
that memory back."

"No, it wasn't. It was him. He was the only one that could have - he
knows that somehow, it had to be him first, and I'm not going to
question it. But that's not it, exactly."

"What..."

"Jack, Greg was under the influence, but James wasn't under anyone's
control. If he'd been able to take over, he might have stopped things
sooner. Greg can't give over to James, and now he's feeling guilty for
it on top of everything." Liz sighed. "He didn't want to get you
involved, but...just talk to him, okay?"

Sparrow looked through his eyes, suddenly, and spoke with his voice and
hands. "Have I your leave to try...extreme measures, then, love?"

Her smile lost a bit of its sadness. "You know, that might be just what
he needs."

"Then give us just a bit of privacy, mm?"

They switched over entirely as he entered the hospital room, the switch
in his walk becoming far more noticeable. "'Lo, Commodore. You're
lookin' a mite peaked."

"Sparrow. And to what do I owe the dubious honor?" Norrington seemed a
bit more sober now, but from the other Jack's knowledge, the drugs still
flowed through his veins. Jack smiled.

"Lovely 'Lizbeth asked I look in on ye. Said y'were a bit down."

"So she sent you to cheer me up. She and I need to..." His voice
softened and trailed off. He yawned.

"What exactly is it that you two need to do?" Grin sharpened. "Describe,
please."

"None..." Yawn... "of your affair, pirate..."

"Might it be something like this?" And Norrington's shutting eyes
widened as Sparrow stroked his short hair, trailing long fingers along
his jawline.

"What on Earth...!"

"I'll stop, Commodore, but it's you that must stop me, savvy? Not Greg.
You."

He groaned. "She told you."

"She's only concerned for your well being, love, as am I."

"Why do I...Jack, what are you..." Jack's hands moved to Norrington's
shoulders, rubbing and caressing. "Will is going to..."

"Will will understand. This has t'be done. And anyway, it's just a
massage, for now..." Jack let his voice go low, insistent. "I think
ye've both bound yourself too tight, mate. Mayhap ye need a pirate t'
slip the locks on your soul. Let go..."

"I can't...I've been tryin'..."

"Shhh, Greg. I'm talkin' t' James. It's only Jack. Worst pirate ye ever
heard of, recall?" He kept his hands to neck and shoulders, rubbing in
rhythmic patterns. "I'll never harm ye, the two of us are bound now.
Bound by memory and by your sacrifice that I witnessed..."

"...died for you...oh..." His eyes were closed again. "...don't regret
that, not at all...but that I died a traitor..."

"...I'll say again, as perhaps you didn't hear me the last time. Ye died
to keep the Crown from betrayin' all that made it worth fighting for. I
was just there."

"...catalyst..."

"Aye, so let me do me job, hmm? James, ye died a hero...ye deserve to
walk, live, breathe again. Now, stop me, Commodore. There's a pirate who
may not be satisfied with a massage much longer. Ye can stop me. I won't
let Greg do it. And I'll know..." His hands traced down over tape and
tubing, to Norrington's chest. He leaned in, tips of his hair brushing
skin.  "Ye do wish t' remain faithful to 'Lizbeth, don't ye? Or, do
ye..."

He took James' mouth then, in a deep kiss, fully expecting the Commodore
to sputter and repel him. He received a surprise.

I.V.- strapped hands came up to grasp his hair, holding him tight.
Jack's eyes opened wide as the kiss widened, deepened. The heart monitor
leapt and began beeping. They were held there for several long seconds,
and only after did the Commodore ...and it was the Commodore...push him
away.

"Well, what do you know," Norrington replied, sitting up. "It worked."
He stretched. "I'm...back."

"Ye're a bit of a bastard, too." Jack observed.

"Pot to kettle?" James replied. "But much as I'd love to have your
respect for my purported deviousness, I really did only gain this body
just this instant. And your arguments did help, for which I thank you,
pirate. But...I think what did it was something much simpler, something
I wish we'd thought of before."

"Go on..." Jack said, gesturing fluidly.

"Greg's completely straight," the Commodore said. "I'm...not."

Jack stood, turning a complete circle before facing Norrington again. "I
knew it! Ye were bending Gillette over the long nines for years, weren't
ye?"

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell."

Something occurred to Jack, then, and he cocked his head, saying, "Wait.
You mean that kissin' me so disgusted Greg that he fled into your
subconscious!?"

Norrington shrugged. "You said it, not me. Anyway, I don't think he's
gone quite that far."

"Oh, whatever. I should slap you, y'know."

"I really think I should be slapping you, if anything. I'm affianced,
after all. You quite took advantage of my weakened condition."

"Don't seem quite so weakened now."

"Only because it was Greg that got dosed, not myself, and I'm now truly
in control." He paused, blinked. "But that is odd. It's the same
body..."

"Aye, but now that ye mention, I've felt Byrd get less drunk the instant
I yield to him. Well, no one said this had t'make sense."

"I doubt most things having to do with you make sense, least of
all...Elizabeth!"

"No, she's usually quite clearheaded...oh. Right. Hi 'Lizbeth."

"Jack...did you molest my fianc�e?"

"Only a little." Her eyebrows were raised and her hands were on her
hips. Not good. "Really, love, it was only a neck rub and a kiss, I
swear on me mum's grave." He scrambled back as she advanced, just a bit,
certainly *not* in panic. "Was for a good cause! An' I had your
permission!"

"He *what?*"

"Well, as a matter of fact..." Her posture relaxed and she smiled. "You
did, at that."

"Ye're truly evil, Liz. And I should know."

"Oh, you aren't really such a bad egg."

Norrington, meanwhile, shook his head. "The two of you joining forces.
I'm doomed." But then he looked at Liz and stood. He was on the opposite
side of the bed from his I.V. stand, and so it leashed him in, but he
reached out his other hand.

"Elizabeth," he said softly, "It did work. It is I, moving us, my love."

"Oh, James," she said, stepping inside his arm as he wrapped it about
her shoulder.

"I can live in this body, if we choose," he went on, and Elizabeth said,

"That's wonderful, dear, but..."

"Yes?"

"Stop moving and get back in bed. You're still undergoing treatment for
a possible overdose of heaven knows what, and I won't have you straining
yourself, no matter how well you feel." She looked at Jack and winked.
"Savvy?"

"You've always had far too much pirate in you, Elizabeth, my love." He
was smiling, though, as he said it.

"I've always been willing t' put just a bit more pirate in her," Jack
said.

Liz rolled her eyes. "Couldn't resist, could you." At the same time,
Norrington growled, "OUT!"

Jack raised his hands in surrender. "I'm goin'...I'm goin'..." He'd
intended to leave them to their privacy, but alas, not so, for a nurse
was on her way in. //...hope Will is here...// he thought to his other
self.

//...I know...// Byrd thought back. //...never thought kissing that
tightass would be so *hot*...yeah, we really need to see him. soon.
maybe in the residents' break room...the lavatory...the middle of the
lobby... I don't *care*...//

Speaking of the lavatory...Jack meandered to the nearest and found a
stall. He reached to lock the door, and it was wrenched open.
Lightning-quick, a hand closed about his arm and a pinch at his elbow
sent consciousness spiraling away.

His last thought as darkness claimed him was a desperate fear that he'd
wake pointing a pistol at his Will.

* * *
5B, Part 3: A Man of Wealth and Taste
* * *

Consciousness returned slowly to Jack at first, but then the day's
events flooded his mind his eyes snapped wide and he gasped, and
realized he was Byrd again upon this waking.

He sat in a leather chair, in an office with rich, elegant d�cor. There
was a good bit of dark wood, and gold accents aplenty. The theme was
distinctly pre-Columbian. Dare he guess...Aztec.

There was a man across from him, mostly hidden in shadow. He sat very
still, moving only when he saw Jack awake.

"Pleased to meet you," came the voice, and it was raw silk over rocks
and oh, so familiar. A voice he'd hoped he'd silenced in a cave long,
long ago, a voice he knew in his heart he'd be hearing again and soon.

A voice that continued, "Won't you guess my name?" He leaned forward,
into the light. Hair slate and sand, long and curling just as it had
ever been, but beard neatly trimmed. Ice-melt eyes.

Hello again, Barbossa.

Oh, but there was no way he'd give him the satisfaction of reacting as
he'd expect. He eyed the nameplate on the man's desk. "Hernando Ross,
looks like." Squinted. "You look familiar. Have I audited you before?"

"So, that's the way ye want t' play it, is it now?" Barbossa folded his
hands. "I know ye remember. I've an inside source or two..." He pressed
a button on his phone. "Lass, could ye come in here?"

Moments later, a door opened, and in she stepped. Well. And that
explained a few things. Red rage behind his eyes again, though he
schooled his features so none of it showed. Her mid-length brown hair
was upswept now, setting off diamond earrings. She wore a wine-dark
dress. Barbossa liked his women in wine-colored dresses, Jack recalled.

"Dr. Schuyler? This is a surprise." He looked back to Ross. Barbossa.
"It's a good thing you've got a shrink. You obviously need one. Do you
have any idea what the penalties are for kidnapping an IRS agent?"

"Same as they are for kidnapping anyone else, I'd expect. Only, I didn't
kidnap ye. I found you passed out downstairs and brought ye up t' my
office to recover." He smiled. "Prove me wrong."

"Mr. Ross? Did you need me further, or did you just want me to stand
here and look pretty?"

"The latter, lass. Ye can go."

Celia Schuyler left with just a parting glance at Jack, those
captivating grey eyes utterly opaque. She'd wanted a confirmation too,
though. Jack could swear she wasn't completely sure, herself, that
Sparrow was awake.

"Jack, Jack, Jack," Barbossa chided, that old drawl growing stronger.
"The sooner ye own up, the sooner we're done here. If it helps, I give
ye me word that I won't kill ye or have ye killed tonight. And while we
both know just exactly how flexible me word is, that's about as plain a
statement as ye're likely to get."

Well. All right, then, and he'd asked for it. Jack closed his eyes just
a second, falling back as Sparrow leapt forth. The world did not shift
or spin this time, but swam into razor-sharp focus.

"In that case," Jack asked, leaning back in his chair, "Might I ask when
ye came back? That is, when ye remembered?"

The bastard looked far too satisfied as he said, "When did I come back?
When did I remember? Ahhhh, Jack, I came back a very, very long time
ago, and I never, ever forgot."

It couldn't be...but Jack was beginning to feel a sneaking suspicion
that it was...

"I was, of course, quite dead for some time, mind you." There Barbossa
took a deep breath. "Not something I enjoyed. I'll admit, if I'd known
ye were buggering Bootstrap's boy at the time, I might ha' played things
a bit differently."

No point in telling him the buggery hadn't come along 'till a good bit
later. Let him mistrust his judgment. "You remember being dead?" Curious
despite himself, but all the spinning, calculating wheels in his mind
saw no harm in asking.

"That I do, dying and death both." Barbossa steepled his hands, then
laced them behind his head. "Dying was cold, I recall that. Death, now.
Death made dyin' feel like a warm summer's day. If ye don't remember it,
you've got better than you deserve. Cold it was, beyond all imagining,
beyond all thought."

Jack did not remember cold at all. He did know, though, that in some
cultures Hell was so described.

"In that bleak void, I waited, and begged for even the need and the
numbness of the curse again, promised up me blackened soul that I might
return even to that benighted state. Lo and behold..."

And hadn't Jack always known that to be his first mate's true curse?
Always wanting what he did not at that moment have...and then for his
sins, getting it....

Barbossa thumbed a remote control and opened the blinds full. Moonlight
flooded the room and the flesh sloughed from his bones. And even though
Jack was half-expecting it, it was still an incredible shock, enough to
make him start and stare quite authentically.

Once, Hector Barbossa had looked a decaying zombie under the curse's
hold. Now there was no flesh to him at all, save his eyes. All sere, dry
bones was he, and the oddest thing was that his suit wasn't damaged by
the curse at all, fine Italian cloth not falling into rags.

"So, if ye'd wondered at all where me treasure got to..."

//*My* treasure, you bony...//

"There's part of your answer, and as for the rest, well, just look
around." A bone-white finger thumbed the blinds closed, and Barbossa
smiled a small, satisfied smile. "A company like Eden Corp. needs
capital to start, doesn't it? Though, in truth, 'twas Eden's far
predecessor that the gold begat. I was brought back...well, after your
death, but not too long after."

Brought back. That in itself could be valuable information if Jack lived
to use it. Jack smiled, relaxed, almost boneless, spreading out in the
chair. "Aren't ye hungry at all, then?"

"Having tried both, I can say for certain that it's better than bein'
dead. And anyway, I'm hardly the only one. This whole *world,* Jack, and
this country especially, it runs on unquenchable hunger and
all-consuming greed." He spread his arms. "To Hell with apples, wine and
sex! So I live in a state of constant want. Thanks to the wonders of
modern advertising, so does everybody else!"

"Want." Jack slouched sideways and in just a bit, eyebrows raised. "And
here we're at the meat of it. Ye've taken shots at me, twice at least,
unless I miss me guess, but again unless I miss me guess you could have
killed me just as easy as brought me here. What do you want of me,
Hector?" Used his first name as he only ever did when the two were
alone, not as a taunt this time, but the other way. Low, dark, almost
warm. Jack leaned forward, smile ever-present. "What is it ye want me to
do?"

And there, there for just a second, Jack saw flash in his eyes a hunger
great enough to consume the world.

//Caught you. Now that is interesting.//

Then it was gone again, masked, suppressed. "Do, Jack? Why, it's very
simple. I simply want you to do nothing."

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, you're right. I could've killed you at any time. I still can. So,
one, I wanted to be certain you knew that, and that you knew, as well,
that ye could not kill me. Chest, coins, and blood are all separate and
all quite secure. Two," Barbossa continued, "I wanted ye to meet me dear
Celia again, t' fully understand the new and very interesting things I
can do to you and those around you. The meat of it, as ye say, is this."

He leaned forward, and he met, captured Jack's eyes. "Y' don't break
your toys until ye're done playin' with 'em."

//Well. And...well.//

"Y' understand, if I were t' have ye killed now, or even shoot ye meself
- it's so *easy,* Jack. There's no point to it. Now, if ye'd had such a
great conflict with yer present life that ye'd leapt from a cliff, well,
that might have been fun. If Greg had in fact been compelled to shoot
you, and I understand 'twas a near thing, that might, just
might...satisfy. But 'twas still a decent show."

Jack kept his grin, though he let it grow a bit rigid. He let his eyes
grow just a little grave. There was not giving Barbossa the
satisfaction, and then there was giving his audience what he wanted. The
latter seemed to be the wiser course at the moment.

"You live t' amuse me, Jack Sparrow, and when ye die, again, it shall be
t' amuse me as well. So first I wanted to watch ye realize that fact.
Second, I know ye must have already begun to plot and plan against me,
as soon as ye worked out who I was, and so I say again, cease that. Do
nothing. For if I do find meself forced t' kill you, Jack, know that
I'll kill you last. After the commodore, after the lass, and especially
after the whelp." Barbossa leaned forward just a hair more and Jack
echoed the movement. "So, Jack. Are we to be two immortals locked in
epic battle until Judgment Day and trumpets sound? Or," and he smiled
that sly smile, "are you going to surrender?"

Jack leaned back again, stretching. "You've the advantage of me.
Obviously we have an accord."

"And that was truly all I wished t' hear. Thankee, Jack." So of course,
Jack cast his eyes about for the monkey, who didn't seem to be in
residence. "Oh, but there is one more thing. Someday, perhaps soon,
perhaps not, I'll come to ye for a favor. I'll just tell ye now that
you'll grant it, for I'll be certain to come bearing the proper
leverage, which may or may not be something as simple as a pistol t' the
whelp's head." Barbossa stood and walked around the desk, to stand
behind Jack's chair. "Ye should be strong enough t' stand by now. So,
out with ye. We're done here."

Obligingly, Jack stood, then stretched again slowly, making a show of
it, but feeling out what strength had yet to return to his legs.
Surrender was one thing, showing weakness before this man quite another.

He stood, walked, swayed, really, working impairment seamlessly into his
natural gait. His hand was on the door, and then he turned.

"If I might ask, why Royal Inc.? What was all that..." gesture
"...business about?"

Barbossa closed a hand about the chair top and cocked his head. "And why
not? Ye may have heard of that occurring elsewhere, earlier, or not, but
the whole gambit was designed with Royal Inc. in mind. I just found it
t' be more profitable with other competitors, sooner. Still, when I
found that ye were in residence there...well." Sly smile again.
"Couldn't resist, mate."

Jack opened the door, still facing Barbossa. "You realize, of course,
that you're stealing all me lines."

Barbossa shrugged. "Pirate."

Jack winced, and got while the getting was good.

* * *

He knew, of course, that there were eyes on him as he made his way down
through the darkened office building. Byrd had a sixth sense for video
pickups, an ability Sparrow had made use of before. He didn't doubt,
either, that a man like Barbossa had live guards at all times, and he
was fairly sure he spotted a few of those.

When he exited the plush lobby, he received a surprise. In the parking
lot were two uniformed guards, holding guns on Will and Elizabeth. Liz?
No, he decided, looking at the particularly indignant set to her eyes.
That was his rum-burning hellcat, to be sure.

One of the guards put a hand to his earpiece, and then they both backed
out of striking range and lowered their weapons. They walked back to the
building, one passing Jack on either side without any acknowledgment.

"Jack!" Will and Elizabeth exclaimed at once, and the lass moved in to
embrace him. Will did not; they were in enemy territory still.

For his part, Jack furrowed his brow. "Ye weren't taken, were you? Ye
found me." Raised a hand, wrist-first. "...How'd ye find me?"

"Car first," she said, and steered them to her Jeep. "I think we all
wish to be gone from here." And when they were on the road, she said, "I
found you. I think...I can always find you. I have a certain sense of
all of us, and that appears to be part of it. It was Will's idea - when
you vanished from the hospital, after what happened to James, he feared
the worst. And, well, Eden Corp...was that...?"

"Aye, that it was. Your father's right, lass. Hernando Ross is Barbossa
and none other. And you'll be happy to know that he doesn't intend t'
kill me, as it's much more fun for him to leave me alive knowing that I
can't kill him, and wonder what he'll decide to try to do to me the next
time he gets bored." Jack inhaled, exhaled, searched the car with his
eyes, then blessed Will with them as the lad violated the open container
law and handed Jack some rum. Several long swallows later, Jack said,
"Oh, and by the way, he'll be wanting a favor down the road, beyond my
not doing a bloody thing to make his life at all unpleasant, else he'll
kill all of us and me last. That's for me staying out of his business,
not for the favor, though he might use any or all of ye for that, too."

"Same old bloody bastard," Will observed, and Jack thought this to be
the perfect time for the rare expletive from his smith. "But should he
try, I think he shall find that we are not such easy meat."

Oh, and bless Will too for the old fire in his tone that brought Jack to
attention, and made him wish Elizabeth gone, unless she wanted to join
in.

"Can't kill him..." Will continued. "You don't mean..."

"Aye, Will me lad, I'm afraid I do. Unless I misunderstood, and I
didn't, not only is he cursed, again, but he has been for the past few
centuries or so. Mayhap some late and unlamented soul of the brethren
tried t' use his bony, rotted hand t' scoop out a coin and got more than
they bargained for...or not. However, he's cursed, and apparently he's
decided that he'd like t' stay that way. But the hunger..." Jack smiled
now, a little. "The hunger still has him, though he denies it with all
he's got. That might just be useful down the road."

They were all fairly quiet, then, 'till Jack's house, Elizabeth coming
in behind them to say, "You know, of course, why what he tried to do to
James did not work."

"Technically, he tried to do it to Greg, but aye, I've an idea."

"It's because we lied, all three of us," Will said, and Jack executed a
bobbing nod. "Norrington's last wish was that he not be remembered as a
traitor, and thus the history books have Captain Jack Sparrow as his
killer. Barbossa had no way to know that this was wrong, as only we four
knew, and could not recall 'till the Commodore unlocked his death and
the memories beyond." He reached out an arm to hold Elizabeth close and
she sighed, leaned in. Jack forgave himself a purely piratical,
possessive surge of jealousy.

"This being Barbossa," Elizabeth put in, "do you think that what he told
you in that penthouse had one shred of truth to it?"

"Oh, especially being Barbossa, it had at least a shred. The best
lies...at least, *his* best lies...all have a kernel of truth at the
core. But how to interpret..." He let his hands sway, conductor-like, to
his speech. "It may be just as he says. He's toying with me because he
wants to, with no better reason, and because he sees little risk to
himself in the game. Or, it's just barely possible that he wants me
alive as we're the last two pirates left in this world...no offense,
Will, I know ye try..." He had to duck a swat at that one. "...and when
I go he'll be alone again - better yer worst enemy than no one like ye
on the face of the earth."

"That's if you're still his worst enemy," Will said. "If you're right,
he's been alive a very long time, and a man like him will have made
others."

"Smart whelp - I was just getting to that. Brings me right up to the
third option." Perfect opportunity for a dramatic pause, which itself
was the perfect opportunity for a long swig of rum, and he took it, of
course. "It may be that he really has a use for old Jack that serves
ends I couldn't even begin to guess, and that he's finally looking past
both desire and revenge." He knew he looked uncommonly serious now, and
didn't care. "If Barbossa's finally gotten that savvy, we could really
be in for it."

"I shall follow your lead, my captain, as always," Will said.

"Leaving out all the times that both of ye *didn't,* that's gratifying
t' hear." But he made use of one of Byrd's softer smiles to take the
sting from his words. "For now, though, I've no problem doing exactly
what he wants, which is nothing. It's me favorite thing to do, after
all, especially when there's rum and good company." He managed to grope
Will and pinch Elizabeth at the same time, fluidly ducking her return
smack.

"I think that's my cue to rejoin my fianc�e - they may release him early
next morning, after all." She moved to the door, but before leaving,
turned and asked "So you'll keep your word, then?" No judgment
whatsoever in her tone, though Jack knew she would be overjoyed with him
for breaking it.

"Of course I will," Jack replied, and then let go his sharpest, fiercest
grin. "Until the opportune moment."

* * *

The Jeep started, the lights came on, and Jack turned to Will who was
all but vibrating with suppressed desire. "I thought she'd never
l-mmmph!" was all he managed to get out before he was tackled, covered,
ground into the couch by a desperate, grasping smith, who wasn't Smith
but Turner, primarily, and ohhh, that was nice. Undulating above him,
the lad was, and popping buttons in his haste to get undressed.

"Take me, Captain," Will gasped when they broke for air. "Take me hard -
I need to feel you, strong, alive..."

"Ah, my William, ye needn't fear for your Jack. I've two lifetimes of
tricks and savvy, and he'll not have me..." Jack slid his hands beneath
Will's jeans, caressing, coaxing a moan. "...which doesn't mean I'll not
give ye exactly what ye need t' feel secure...never let it be said I
didn't take care of me mmmm...ahh...oh, ohhh yes..." Teeth at his neck,
something they both liked well...but Will wanted hard...Supporting them
both for just an instant, Jack rocked them to their feet, backed Will
around the couch, steering him to the living room wall, where those
pants came down. Then Jack's pants, their shoes and socks kicked off and
away.

Up against the wall, now, was Will, and Jack was groping, sucking,
grinding. Will was groaning, which was very nice indeed. And leaking
from Jack's attention...well. Jack took that, mixed it with the beads at
his tip, biting his lip when his hand ran up and down his length.
Leaving off with regret, he licked that lovely, sensitive neck and
thrust three fingers in at once, to a toss of sweaty brown curls.

"Please..." Will moaned, hips jerking up and back, body bending and
braced. "All of you, now. *Hard,* Jack..."

No denying that plea, not for the world or all the gold in it. Fingers
out, himself in all the way at once and GOD this was life and need and
connection and hard, pounding desire, Will against the wall and crying
out, "Jack! Jack!" like a prayer...

"Right here," Jack whispered in his ear as the lad's warmth took him,
consumed him. "And I always shall be, sure as you belong to me..." Byrd
behind his eyes, keenly approving and riding the cresting wave of need
along with him...they grew tight...were close...were *there* were oh OH!
"WILL!" Came so hard their legs buckled and they bore all to the floor,
Will sighing and grinding his hips about their softening manhood.

"Jack..." Will moaned, in a voice that made Jack shiver through his
pleasurable haze, and Jack slid out, down, away, but back, replacing his
presence within with presence without, mouth closing around Will's tip
and sucking hard. Hips thrust up and he moved his head down obligingly,
drinking the man in 'till his thighs shook. Jack grabbed those hips and
teased the junctures of those thighs with his thumbs, and that was all
it took, Will releasing hot and sweet with a wordless cry.

They held each other there for a long moment, then Jack reached up,
grabbed thick blankets from the back of the couch, and wrapped them
both.  He slid a hand from Will's to go turn up the gas on the fire,
then reached down to give Will a hand up that turned into a kiss.

They left the fire on for heat, showered, and went to bed, but Will
caught Jack heading out for a post-confrontation, post-coital session
with his guitar.

"Helps you think, huh?" Smith again, as Jack was Byrd.

"Yeah."

"Me, too. So what's the song for the bad guy?"

"What else?" He ran his fingers over the strings, then started singing.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."

Will wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders, swayed with him.

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. But what's puzzling you is
the nature of my game ..."

* * *
EPILOGUE 1: SWAN RAMPANT
* * *

>From his desk chair, Barbossa looked out at the moonlit city by the sea.
The light filtered through the blinds, striping one arm flesh and bare
bones by turns. A long day, even longer night, and sleep, whether
satisfying or not, was still a necessity. He contemplated heading home,
and as he did so, his phone rang.

"Don't blame Jack for this," came the voice on the other end. "I'm
afraid I had him bugged."

"And you arrrre?" Barbossa drawled.

"Oh, my apologies. We've shared a corner of the same market for a while,
but we've never really talked. It's Warren Swan. Captain."

"Hmmm. So ye were that governor once upon a time."

"That I was. So how many times do you intend to sack me?"

"If I knew what ye were talking about, which of course I don't, I'd say
once per lifetime should work fine. Tradition, ye understand. Now, what
about Jack? I'm on my way out. Are ye going to ask me to relent, or some
such?"

"Oh, no, by all means," Warren replied. "Enjoy. Let him worry, let him
fear, let him twist in the wind. What do I care? There's just one
thing..."

"Aye?"

"If you ever, and I do mean ever, actually hurt any members of my family
*or* their friends again, I am not taking the time to find out what you
care about and destroy it. I'll go right to the source."

"Surely you heard. You can't..."

"Well, not traditionally, no. But nowadays, there are all kinds of
lovely weapons that can burn bones to ash. I wonder just how
indestructible you really are - do you care to risk it? And are you sure
you wouldn't feel that kind of damage?" A pause, and then, pleasantly,
"Just something to keep in mind. Good night, Mr. Ross."

There was a click, and the slightest bit of a dial tone, before Barbossa
set the phone back on its cradle.

* * *
EPILOGUE 2: THE ONE-EYED MAN
* * *

No one had found him yet.

That was all the proof he needed that Joey was doing right by him. Joey
had the weight of the whole Pintoli organization behind him to keep the
rest of the gang's mouth shut, but it was useless against Joey himself.
That and the fact that only Joey really knew Robbie's hangouts and
routines - Robbie knew that as long as he was free, Joey hadn't sold him
out. So, time to do right by Joey, then.

"First step's information," he murmured to himself. "Knowledge is power,
and all that." So, here he was, outside the window of the source he had
the closest connection to, gun in hand. Not wanting to wait for the
self-tinting lenses to adjust, he wore the glasses that were permanently
half dark, half light.

Robbie peeked in, pulled back, and slid a leg over the windowsill.
Pulling the rest of his body over, he flattened himself against the
bedroom wall. He saw the vaguest outline of a figure in the living room.
Robbie ghosted to the hallway, edged close. Then he stepped out, aimed
the gun, flipped on the light and said, "Lo, Mack."

"'Lo Robbie," the tall, bald black man said, without turning, in a
matching London accent. "Been expecting you, actually."

"Really."

"Yeah. Look, you want to come around and have a seat? I'm unarmed."

"And you say you were expecting me?"

"Would have been, even if I hadn't been told to."

"Well, now that is interesting." Robbie kept the gun trained on the much
bigger man - even if Mack was telling the truth, and apparently he was,
he could break Robbie in half without much trying. The skinny blonde
settled himself into a leather armchair, and said, "I hope you're ready
to share, then, mate. Time to tell me who you work for - who I've been
working for, even, this whole time."

"All right."

Robbie's eyebrow raised and his eye widened. "Really. Well. This is
turning out to be much easier than I thought."

"He told me to tell you, although he thinks you're mostly just seeking
confirmation at this point. So, I'm to confirm that the source for most
of your intel has been, in fact, Hernando Ross and his organization."

"Huh. Well, that's a start..." Robbie eyed Mack warily. "Tell me this
isn't the part where someone shoots me in the back of the head."

Mack shook his head, smiling slightly. "I asked him if that was how it
was going to go down. If it was, I figured I owed it to you to have it
be to your face, us being mates and all. You know what he said to me?"

"What?"

"He said, 'Waste not. And you can tell him I said that.' End quote."
Robbie opened his mouth, but was cut short when Mack held up a hand, and
then a white envelope. "He also told me to give you this, and then we'd
proceed once you'd seen it. Bit of a mystery to me, actually. I'm
curious."

Robbie took the envelope, which bulged a bit. There was an odd feeling
in his throat, suddenly, a welling behind his Adam's apple. He swallowed
and lifted the flap, retrieved a round, wooden bead, worn nearly smooth
by time.

//No splinters...// he thought idly, and then...

He breathed in hard and sharp. "My eye!" Shook head to toe, gun
forgotten on the floor. "Me eye! Me eye! Where'd you find it? Where?"

Mack stared at him. "I told you. Mr. Ross gave it to me to give to you.
That thing's an eye?"

"Eye. Aye, an eye." He let out a high-pitched giggle, and now Mack was
looking at him all cockeyed. Heh.

"So..." Mack said slowly, "Do you want me to take you to him or not?"

He stood and backed away suddenly, the chair skidding against the wall
behind. "Or not. Not, absolutely not." Wide-eyed himself now, because he
knew. He knew, he remembered, and he understood.

"Robbie?" the Bo 'sun said. Not the Bo 'sun, not, not, no...Mack, his
name was Mack...oh, best not to disturb the captain, he'd be very cross
indeed...

"Very cross..." he murmured. "I...I 'ave to go..."

" What...what'd I just *do* to you, mate? Robbie?"

"Not exactly," he whispered, turning and running for the window. He
didn't stop for rather a while.

* * *
END
TMF
* * *

* * *
Credits for 5A - Halloween:
* * *

First, as always, many thanks to Gundam Nymph for the beta!
--
Second, the Taxverse now has fan art! Woohoo! Yay! Thanks #_voidstar -
you're the best! Check Jack and Jack  (and Hector!) at
http://void-star.net/art.php?galleryID=9&picID=291.
--
Bunny Credits! Thanks, guys! I used as many as I could, and tabled the
rest for later:

Three separate people mentioned Buffy's Halloween ep, so I just had to.
They were Tathren, Merhawk, and Venka. Thanks, guys!

Permetaform suggested candy corn - heh.

Rokeon and Juniper200 thought Jack should have as much trouble putting
his costume together as the rest of us; I used one of Juniper's lines
verbatim 'cause it really worked...Ro also thought Jack should spike the
punch at the party :).

Shino Hoshi was curious how Jack and Will would react to
trick-or-treaters. My first idea was that they'd pass out candy, but
then Annie Mae made a phone call and the rest was history.

Kyouichi - sorry Jack didn't get slapped in West Hollywood! The whole
thing was fairly tame due to the rain, because, well, it *was* this
year. Yes, I got drenched.

Alicia Graybill advised it might be interesting for Jack to find his
ring at a costume shop; it became a plot point :).

Nightfire of the Braids...thanks for letting me use your icon text! I'd
been wanting to work it in.

To all who emailed / posted with Koehler (now Tyler)'s name and manner
of demise, thanks! I went with the consensus. Hope I don't miss anyone:
Audrey, andyeascrewyou, merimalfoy, firesignwriter, juniper200,
threepio, Lydia, Ziggy, Ann, Psocid, and Alicia Graybill.
--
References:
"I have to say these things or they just fester..." was a direct lift
from Darien Fawkes' dialogue from the late and very much lamented TV
show, "The Invisible Man." That show rocked the house.

The video game characters that the bar patrons thought Jack and Will
were dressed as can be found here:
http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~wattses/char.htm. For extra fun, check out
Barbossa's doppelganger, LeChuck. Will doesn't look as much like
Guybrush after Guy gets his doofy red jacket in the fourth game, but
here are the G-man and Elaine with a monkey, anyhow.

http://www.gamescreenshots.com/fullpic.asp?category=PC&pic_id=5421&game_id=43&gallery=0&picOrder=0

If you want some background on Ethan Rayne and Rupert Giles, check out
Loey's great episode guides to the two Buffy eps ripped off...err,
*referenced* herein:
Halloween: http://members.aol.com/LRL94/halloween.html
A New Man: http://members.aol.com/LRL94/anewman.html

Songs for this episode included:
The Spongebob Squarepants Theme Song -
http://www.spongebobworld.com/themesong.htm
Stand Up by Ludacris -
http://www.lyricsondemand.com/l/ludacrislyrics/standuplyrics.html
Party Up by DMX - http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/dmx/partyup.html

No songs about reincarnation this go-round, but I take requests!

Finally, a little explanation re: Jack's first captain. Black Jack
Savage was a (fictional) Caribbean pirate who began his career by taking
over the slave ship that had him in the hold. Over the course of his
pirating he killed 100 people, though he really doesn't think the
slavers should have counted, and when he was finally hung in his own
courtyard he was cursed to haunt the place, somehow saving a life for
each life he took. More on this fun, short-lived D*sney series here:
http://www.tvtome.com/tvtome/servlet/ShowMainServlet/showid-4494/ and
here: http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0101082/. Anyhow, the rest of it is
that on the series, though not the pilot ep., Black Jack Savage was
played by Steven Williams. Steven Williams also played the captain to a
certain squad of high-school narcs that were based out of an old church
at...yep. 21 Jump Street. So, in a way, Black Jack really *was* Jack
Sparrow's first captain. Savvy? ;)

* * *
Credits for 5B - Day of the Dead:
* * *

Bunny Credits!
*The abovementioned Juniper suggested people getting possessed on DotD
-I took the original bunny and twisted it almost beyond recognition ;).
Thanks, J!
*Rokeon asked if we'd find out what unhappy memory Norrie was carrying.
Yep! Did it have to do with Jack or Will's deaths? Nope! Close,
though...
*Connie asked if we'd bring Barbossa back on DotD. Hoo, yeah.
*The street the Day of the Dead fair is on is, in fact, named after a
certain Irish vampire, currently co-starring in Psocid's "Crimson Ways."

References for Day of the Dead:
The Carmilla Street Fair is based on the Dia de los Muertos Fruitvale
Festival, held each year in Oakland, CA. Webpage for this year is here:
http://www.unitycouncil.org/dia2003/index.html. Click on the Artists'
Pavilion link to find a list of this year's altars.
More interesting links:
http://www.nacnet.org/assunta/dead.htm
http://go-southwest.com/articles/dod1.shtml
http://www.mexconnect.com/mex_/muertos.html

You can find the lyrics for "Sympathy for the Devil," by the Rolling
Stones, here: http://www.lyricstime.com/lyrics/32257.html .

That's it! On to Taxes 6, the Thanksgiving special, which I hope to have
out by New Year's...You think I'm kidding...Anyway, Professor Bill Smith
returns, and Liz goes to Texas to meet the parents.
---
TMF

P.S.: Anyone notice this is the second time Norton's dropped his gun? I
think he must be a Sentinel ;).