jackxwill - pirates of the caribbean slash
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Title: Warmer Waters
Author: Jessie-chan  (jemeigs@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Will / Jack; Will / Frederick
Rating: R
Warning(s): AU; Crossover with From Hell
Summary: Sequel to "To Heaven." Jack has taken Will away from London for his own safety, and all Will can think about is Frederick.

Disclaimer: I don't own Will, Jack, or Frederick Abberline. They belong to their respective owners.
Feedback: Welcomed and appreciated.
Beta: none

Author's Notes: And things get a little creepier...

Previous chapters available at

Warmer Waters

Chapter Three

The entire hideout--indeed, the entire island--is in
an absolute uproar upon my discovery of the dead and
mutilated crew member. I haven't spoken since finding
the poor man, except for the loud scream I'd let out
that had alerted everyone to trouble. I can see
Anamaria retching in some nearby bushes while another
man turns away from the gory scene. People keep asking
me what happened, but I cannot answer. My mind has
been taken back to my mother's murder and the sight of
her broken body on the floor. I shudder, almost
feeling like my entire body is ready to just shut

"Move!" someone barks, and I turn my head to the right
to see Jack pushing his way through the crowd of
gathering pirates. He sees the body, and I can almost
swear his face goes exceedingly pale. He hurries up to
me, wraps an arm around my shoulders and another arm
across my front to hook around my waist, and begins to
lead me away from the scene while telling someone to
find people to clean up the mess.

We enter Jack's cabin, which is a little larger than
mine, and he immediately sits me down on the bed,
which is large enough for two. He runs his hands
through my hair, pushing it back from my face, then
gently kisses my forehead. "Lay down," he instructs,
and I obey, stretching out on my back, looking up at
him and wondering what he will do.

Jack reaches down and carefully removes my shirt. He
folds it and sets it on the bedside table before
beginning to remove his vest and his own shirt. Cool
hands find their way onto my skin, and I sigh as Jack
lightly rubs his hands up and down my sides.

"You're not going to panic on me, are you?" he asks me
quietly, moving a hand to draw circles on my stomach.

"Not if you keep doing that," I reply. He gives me a
little grin, one that shows the faint glint of a gold
tooth, then he turns serious.

"Will, tell me what happened."

I consider his request for a moment. It is not unlike
a request Frederick made of me once, when he wanted to
know what had happened to my mother. But this one is
different; I did not know this man, and I am, as far
as I know, completely uninvolved in this. Except for
the fact I found the man outside MY cabin.

"There isn't much to tell," I say uncertainly,
struggling to focus completely on Jack's hands, which
are slowly moving closer to my hips with each pass.

"Tell me anyway," he insists.

I shrug. "I walked out of my cabin this morning, and
found him..." I hesitate, not wanting to describe it.
Jack has seen it anyway. "Like that," I finish lamely.

"You didn't hear anything last night?"

I shake my head. "Not a thing," I add, emphasizing

Jack opens his mouth to say more or perhaps to ask me
another question, but a sharp rap on the door
interrupts him. Heaving a sigh, he gets up, tugs his
shirt back on, and opens the door. Anamaria stands in
the doorway. She begins speaking to Jack in a low
tone, apparently in an effort to keep me from hearing,
hands him something furtively, and leaves.

It is a bloody piece of paper, I notice as Jack
unfolds it gingerly. His beautiful, dark eyes skim
over the paper, then he looks up at me sharply. I sit
up and frown.

"What is it?" I ask.

Jack approaches the bed and sits down, still looking
concerned. "Anamaria wants me to keep this from you.
But I don't think that's right."

"Keep what from me? What's going on?"

"There was...a note found on the body, a note
addressed to you." I feel my breath catch in my throat
as he holds it out towards me. "Do you want to see

I bite my lip uncertainly, then take the note from him
and hold it in trembling hands. My eyes slide over the
dark brown, crusted letters, letters written in blood
long-since dried, and I gasp.

"It's all for you, William Turner."

I look back up at Jack. "Do you...do you think this
has anything to do with...with what happened in

Jack shakes his head. "Likely not. We killed that
bastard, remember?"

"I'd rather not," I mutter. "But Jack, Frederick sent
me a letter."

"I thought I told you to not tell him where we are,"
Jack jumps in.

"I didn't," I say defensively. "He sent the reply
through the man who delivered my letter to him." As
I'm speaking, I take Frederick's letter from my pocket
and hand it to him. "He wants me to come back to

Jack reads the short letter. "Well, whatever you said
in your letter about me, he seems to trust me a lot
more than he did when we left London."

I ignore his statement. "So when are we going back to

Jack is silent for a moment, obviously in deep
thought. I wait, anticipating his agreement with
Frederick, his decision to give the orders that will
prepare us for a cross-ocean voyage.

But Jack shakes his head slowly. "Will, I'm not going
back to London, and I won't take you. If it's
dangerous for you here, it's likely much more
dangerous in London, where there are people who know
you and will recognize you."

"But Frederick said--"

"Will, I don't care what Frederick said. He's pretty
much asked me to protect you, and I can do that much
better here than in London, an area that I don't know
as well. You're staying here."


"Don't question my decision!" he barks, and with that,
I know the conversation is over.

But with his words, Jack has given me another option.
"I'm not going back to London, and I won't take you,"
he said. HE won't take me, but the Black Pearl isn't
the only ship that occasionally makes berth at the
Isle de Muerta.


The next evening begins as a quiet one, but things
escalate into chaos rather quickly when Jack and I
find the second victim.

The two of us are walking along the beach, where the
water can wash over our feet in cool waves, when I
trip over something and fall, sprawling ungracefully
in the sand. I push myself to my knees, then look down
to find myself face to face with the corpse of another
one of Jack's newer crew members. I let out a shriek
and scrabble backwards in the sand; Jack's hands find
my waist, and he pulls me to my feet. I turn and bury
my face in his neck.

Jack rubs my back comfortingly, then breathes in my
ear, "It's all right, Will. It can't hurt you."

He is wrong, and I ache to tell him so. The dead CAN
hurt you, just not in the way the living can. The two
victims from the past three days can't hurt Jack; he
felt nothing truly personal towards them. But I loved
my mother, very deeply, and she hurt me more than I
will ever let on when she died.

I glance at the body, then gasp. There is another
piece of paper pinned to the man's bloody shirt,
addressed to me in bold black letters. "Mr. William
Turner," it proudly proclaims. I slowly pull away from
Jack and hesitantly lean down to retrieve the note.

It is folded over once so my name shows, and I gently
straighten the damp paper. The black letters have run
slightly, but it is still legible. I read it, then
wordlessly pass it to Jack. He reads it aloud in a
shaky voice.

"There is no happiness without tears, no life without
death. Beware! I am going to make you cry."

Jack crumples the piece of paper in a fist and shoves
it at me. "Back to the cabin," he says shortly. "Now."

I turn and start hurrying up the beack, with Jack
right behind me, making sure I get where I intend to
go. After making sure I'm safely in the cabin, he
disappears outside to find Anamaria, and I'm left
alone in the cabin.


More than an hour has passed since Jack left the cabin
when he returns, his face concerned. He immediately
comes towards me and embraces me, and I rest my head
against his shoulder. I have gotten into Jack's store
of rum again, and I feel more than a little tipsy.
Jack rubs my back soothingly, making quiet shushing
sounds. "You're shaking," he comments.

I nod silently and press myself closer, inhaling
Jack's scent deeply.

"You want to lay back down?" he asks me, still rubbing
his hands over my back.

I nod. "I want you to lay down with me," I request,
just a bit breathlessly. "I want you to lay down on
me, and I want you to kiss me and touch me and make me
feel better."

Jack's eyes meet mine, and I can see the indecision in
his eyes. He wants to do what I've asked him to do,
but some sort of moral war is being waged inside him,
likely because I'm drunk. I try to sway his decision;
I close my mouth over his in a searing kiss. Jack
moans and digs his hands into my hair, his fingers
entangling themselves in my curls. He tilts my head
back and slides his lips gently along my throat, and
one of his hands moves down to my hip. He kisses me
once more, then unceremoniously dumps me backwards on
the bed.

"Get some sleep," he orders before leaving the cabin
once more.

Infuriated, I slap the pillow beneath me, then flop
back with a sigh of annoyance--both at Jack and at
myself. I close my eyes and try to drift off to sleep.


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