Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow would never kill an innocent man, refuse a strong drink, or tell a true story.
Disclaimer: Disney owns these characters and the setting in which they live.
Notes: ash_night requested a fic dealing with Jack's long stories, which were mentioned in Fitting the Hat . . . I cannot disappoint. This now massive series contains, in order: Too Tight, A True Story, Fitting the Hat, Bathwater, and Join the Battle. This is also known as "Gil's requisite alone-together-on-the-Interceptor fic," and is the second of three fics and two chapters that I wrote while on vacation. I will probably transcribe and post the other things tomorrow. =)
A True Story
"Tell me about my father, Jack," Will said. They had long since exhausted every other topic that Will would allow, which was admittedly a short list.
"What, William Turner the merchant, or Bootstrap Bill the pirate?" From the man's game tone, he could've gone on straight-faced about either man with never a hint as to which was the real man and which the lie.
Well, it wasn't as though he planned to believe the pirate anyway. "Whichever you know best."
Jack settled himself against the rail of the Interceptor with a broad grin. "So you've come 'round."
"I've realized that I can't believe anything you say," the blacksmith replied levelly. "And so it doesn't matter what you tell me."
This didn't offend Captain Jack Sparrow in the least; rather, he seemed almost flattered by the cold pronouncement. He straightened his shirt and hat and crossed his arms. "Sit, lad; the sails don't need tending. Believe me or not--that's your prerogative--but just this once, I'll tell you a true story."
Despite the order, Will remained standing. He highly doubted that Jack could keep to the truth for any great stretch of time.
The pirate raised an eyebrow, then sat with his legs stretched out in front of him as if to say suit yourself.
"First," he said, examining his rings, "Hobbs."
"Hobbs. He was captain of my ship before I, and he had three gold rings on each finger--"
"What, even his thumbs? How did he fight?" Will demanded.
"He didn't fight, boy; he had three men to fight for him. There was myself--I was a sharp lad even then--and Mack Lacey, who died in a brawl in Bengal when a tattooed corsair pulled a cutlass. And the last man--"
"Was my father," Will whispered, crouching despite himself.
"Was Jim Hunter." Jack ran a hand over the Interceptor's deck. "Jim had a wooden leg and a fear of splinters, I recall.
Now, Hobbs had a bad habit of getting into fights."
"Of getting you three into fights," Will corrected; the pirate nodded and waved his hand. "Right enough, lad. So when a pirate killed him for his rings--thirty of them, remember--when Captain Hobbs was killed, the men were a mite unreasonable. They dropped us in Bengal, and Mack Lacy got himself killed that very night."
Will's knees rested on the deck. "Why didn't you kill the pirate before he killed your captain?" he asked, then narrowed his eyes. "You wanted to take over the captaincy, didn't you?"
Jack looked at his fingers. "Thirty rings is a lot of gold."
Horror filled Will's face as he sat. "You didn't."
"Aye, I didn't, but can't begrudge a man what he can't resist." The pirate rolled the word around his mouth like a ginger sweet. "Where was I, lad?"
"Ah, yes--Bengal. Jim Hunter and I were up to our necks in India, and they'd just thrown Mack Lacey in the river when your father bought me the first drink."
"What was my father like?" Will asked eagerly.
A long moment got spent in contemplation. "Tall," Jack said finally. "Tall, and dark as an Indian from the sun, with earrings in his ears and a great golden laugh. He was a wild, drunk, savvy creature--nothing like you at all. Had a healthy regard for his own life, for one." Will frowned, nodding. "No, a bit like you. After our first . . . altercation, he sprung me from the prison and took me to find my ship."
"And you got to be captain."
"And made the pirate who killed Captain Hobbs my first mate. Probably a bad decision," Jack mused. "Where's rum?" He leaped to his feet and went searching for his poison of choice as though he'd never been telling a story at all.
"Wait a moment! That was barely even about my father--it was about you, and . . . and Hobbs, and--" He hadn't noticed that he was sitting until he had to clamber upright.
Jack grinned. "Did you believe it, lad? Any of it?"
"All of it!" the blacksmith shouted. He dropped his shoulders, and with them, his voice. "Just tell me more about my father."
The pirate clicked his tongue as he made his staggering way into the hold. "I'll tell you this about your father, Will Turner, and I can't say it of you--old Bootstrap Bill knew that Captain Jack Sparrow would never kill an innocent man, refuse a strong drink . . . or tell a true story."
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