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The Only Rules That Matter: Afterlife (TheCorsair, Madam Mim)

Instead of choking her harder John eased up, much to Jenny's disappointment. She gasped when her husband--the only man in her life, the man she had sworn her life to--released his grip on her. She scrabbled for his hands but they reached back to grip her ankles, wrapping them up over his shoulders. She grunted as he thrust hard again, gripping her throat and demanding to know whether she wanted everyone to see. Each thrust forced her knees against her chest, leaving her uncomfortably cramped and claustrophobic when combined with the choking. Still she clenched around him at the threat to bend her over the rail.

"Yes," she rasped, clenching again as she felt him pulse inside her. "I want them...to watch...watch you fuck me...fill me...with cum. Watch...watch you punish...me...Show them what...what a whore like...that gets..." The dirty talk wasn't new. The choking wasn't new. Even punishment wasn't new. But Jenny wanted to get off on being hurt in a way that wasn't inherently designed for pleasure. She wanted her body to betray her, to cum against her will as he beat her within an inch of her life. She wanted him to use her unconscious body as his personal fuck toy, to make sure she couldn't stand when it was all over, to fuck her in a way that would kill a mortal whore. It was what she deserved for what she had done, for her sin against him and against God.

"They'd...they'd get off...on it...y'know..." she grunted. "Watching you...hit me...choke me out...fuck your cum...cum into me...while I screamed..." God was that the hardest he could squeeze? "Watching you hurt...hurt me...bruise me..."
 
Oh. She was in one of those moods, was she? Jack nearly came as she begged him to choke her out, but pulled out instead. Before she could protest he dragged her to her feet and shoved her forward, tattered dress blowing open in the breeze, until she hit the railing. “Just a little whore, aren’t you,” he growled, pressing his wet cock against her ass as he dragged his belt from his breeches.

He slid the leather slowly over her throat, letting her feel it cool against her skin before he drew the belt taught around her. “They’re all going to watch,” he hissed into her ear, grabbing a fistful of long red hair and forcing her to stare at the dock. There was nobody there, not that he could see, but that didn’t stop the excitement of the game. “They’re going to watch me use your whore’s cunt the way it should be used.”

He grabbed her arms, twisting them behind her back and gripping her wrists as he twisted and wrapped the leather around them. “Maybe I’ll give you to them,” he added, pushing her forward so her bare breasts hung over the wooden railing. “Would you like that, wouldn’t you?” His hand cracked against her ass. “Whore.”

One hand wrapped around his cock, still slick with her juices. The other gripped the leather of his belt and pulled, forcing her back to arch so she could breathe. As she did he pressed the head of his dick against her slippery folds and pushed, driving himself deep into her. “Scream for me,” he snapped, jerking the leather as he fucked her. “Beg me to fuck your whore’s cunt.”
 
Jenny grunted and winced as she hit the railing, feeling the bruises it left around her ribs almost as soon as they blossomed. Good. She bit her lip as he called her a whore and pressed his cock against her ass, wondering whether he would go in without any preparation like he ought. It was as much as she deserved.

"You just understanding that now?" she rasped with a crooked grin, throat aching. She pressed her hips back against him, just a little, bracing herself. Instead John slid his belt over her throat and she shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms and nipples aching as they peaked. Jenny gasped and gripped the railing as it suddenly drew taught around her throat and a thrill of excitement ran through her.

"They're going to watch," he hissed into her ear, wrapping her hair around his fist and forcing her to stare at the empty dock. "They're going to watch me use your whore's cunt the way it should be used." A miniature orgasm rippled through her and she gasped, taken off-guard, as he threatened to throw her to the imaginary ravenous sailors watching them while he twisted her arms behind her back and tied the belt around them. With her arms bound together between her shoulder blades with the same belt as was around her throat, she found the harder she struggled the more difficult it was to breathe. Perfect.

"Yes," she croaked, earning a spanking as John called her a whore. He pulled on the belt, forcing her to bend backwards to where she was leaning her head against his bicep as he pressed into her. She groaned, clenching around him, glad to be filled again in only the way a man could fill her. Only the way her man could. Because he was hers and she was his entirely, and she loved him more than life itself. Nothing would ever change that. Which was why it had been so senseless to fuck some Chinese whore in the back of a tea house, even if she had looked remarkably like Shih.

"Scream for me," he snapped, jerking the leather as he fucked her, pulling it incrementally tighter. "Beg me to fuck your whore's cunt."

"Oh fuck me sir," she groaned, her voice nearly a whisper with the belt bruising her throat. "Please fuck me harder. Use my cunt the way a whore deserves to be used." Jenny cried out as another wave of pleasure rippled through her, a precursor to orgasm, and she clenched around him, but the cry came out only as a strange strangled noise that was half-whispered.
 
Fuck. She felt so good on him, so right on him. Even like this, fucking her rough and hard, fulfilling by her fantasies and his as she begged him for more.

Oh fuck me sir," she groaned, her voice nearly a whisper with the belt bruising her throat. "Please fuck me harder. Use my cunt the way a whore deserves to be used."

No, not like a whore. Not like a whore at all. Like his wife. The whore had been a terrible mistake, one he’d made thinking it would help him find the White Lotus. One he wouldn’t make again. “Like this?” he growled, pulling her body back against him and driving his cock into her depths. “I said scream,” he whispered in her ear, before biting the back of her neck. “Scream for me!” he demanded, biting her again.

He gasped as he felt her clench around him, as he heard the strangled sobbing cry of pleasure torn from her constructed throat. In response he shoved her back down, making her gasp as her ribs slammed into the railing. “Not enough!” he roared, slamming his cock into her hard enough to scrape her body along the wood. “I said scream! Scream for me, whore!” Fuck, he wanted to cum. “Show me just how much you want my cum in you, slut!”
 
Her whole body tightened as her husband demanded that she scream, biting her and slamming her against the railing. A ragged cry was pulled from her throat and as he shoved her the gesture made Jenny's hands pull away from her back, tightening the belt around her throat. Her skin was pinched, her lips beginning to turn blue, and she could feel the bruises and abrasions forming, feel the leather slowly crushing her windpipe. Would this kill her? Would that death be permanent? It was what she deserved, to die slowly and suffer in Hell for eternity for what she had done. The thought made her giggle--or would have, had she been able to--in a sudden rush of giddiness. She felt light and pleasantly dizzy while her husband berated her to scream.

"Jack!" she finally did manage a scream loud enough to carry to the other ships, though in the harbor it was muffled by the buildings. "Oh God cum inside me Jack! Use me!" Jack, after all, was a pirate: he had murdered and pillaged, he was ruthless and had no sense of moral decency. Jack would do things to her body that John would never dream of.

There was no gradual climb to her release. It caught her off-guard, coming all at once, tearing another ragged scream from her as the rush of orgasm and lack of oxygen made for one of the most elated experiences she had ever had. But whether it was the lack of oxygen or the sudden rush of blood it proved too much. Jenny's body went limp and the world went black.
 
Jenny screamed as she climaxed, and the feel of her hungry body clenching around his shaft sent him over the edge as well. He braced himself on the railing and her hip, thrusting deep into her as he emptied his seed and his pleasure where it belonged. In his wife, not in some cheap dockside whore. “God, Jenny,” he gasped, wearily stroking her flank. “That was... Jenny?”

Her head hung limp, supported only by the leather around her throat, and she didn’t look like she was breathing. Frantically he pulled out, pulled her from the railing and fumbled at the belt. Livid red marks and bruises mottled her throat beneath the strap, and there was a bluish tinge to her lips that began to fade as he got the belt free.

“Jenny?” he called, anxiously, lowering his head to her chest. He heard her heart beating, heard her lungs drawing breath, and terror drained from him to leave a sort of numb exhaustion. Now, sitting beside her, he could see the signs of the rough way he’d used her - the bruising on her throat, the bite marks on her shoulders and the scrapes and bruises the railing had left on her belly and thighs. Shaw warred with arousal as he examined the injuries. Nothing serious, he decided, particularly how quickly they healed. Some of the bruises were already beginning to fade.

She sighed and her green eyes fluttered before looking around with a dazed expression. Gently, he stroked her cheek. “That... was something,” he managed. “How... do you feel... all right?
 
She wasn't dead. Jenny didn't know much, but she knew that wasn't dead. A strange symbol hung in the air before her, a pinprick and filling her vision all at once, but she wasn't dead. Nearly dead, but not. Something was watching her, something angry and festering and wretched, something which was not yet a part of her but she had known all her life...all of her afterlife. The whispering was indistinct at first, but slowly became clearer as that something came nearer but did not reveal itself.

"It is not yet time," it whispered. There was something malevolent about the voice, something that chilled her to her soul.

"Then when?" She felt a longing in her heart, in her loins, in her withering soul. She ached for it to come to her, to use her for its wretched love and its beautiful vengeance, to make her feel whole and alive again.

"Sooner than you think." Its voice was a cool, slithering hiss which wrapped around her and held her firmly, just at the point of being suffocating. "And then the world shall be wrought in our image."

"But...I want you..." She longed to reach out, to hold it to her as she would a lover, but she couldn't move.

"Then seek...me...out..."

Jenny took a deep, gasping breath, her eyes fluttering open and looking around, confused. She had been in the middle of a conversation, but with whom and about what she couldn't remember. Had she died? No...no that couldn't be it. Surely if she had died she would have stayed dead. The conversation--dream, surely--slipped from her consciousness like water through her fingers and she was left with a strange feeling that she couldn't quite place, but was still vaguely unpleasant. Fingers tenderly stroked her cheek and she looked up at her husband, giving him a weak smile.

"That...was something," John said. "How...do you feel...alright?"

"I'm fine." Jenny's voice was raspy and she found she could barely force it above a whisper, but she managed to eek out the words. "That was incredible. Might be a bit wobbly for a few days, but that's what I asked for, wasn't it?" Carefully she pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. A few of the more minor bruises were already fading, but the ones around her throat and her wrists would remain for at least a day or two. "We found the bloody White Lotus and did what we were supposed to," she rasped, "now don't we have a pirate to catch?" She smiled more widely and used her husband to steady herself as she pushed herself to her feet. "Now bring me that horizon, Mr. Sparrow."

The fading dream bothered her, because it felt as though it had been important. But as they pulled out of the harbor and set after Chang Tao Ling, she realized that there was something else bothering her, as well. For the first time, Jenny Sparrow was consciously aware of her soul and what it felt like...and she didn't like what she felt.
 
“We found the bloody White Lotus and did what we were supposed to," Jenny rasped, gripping his arm as she dragged herself to her feet, "now don't we have a pirate to catch?"

“That we do,” John agreed. “I don’t know how it helps, mind you. But we did that thing.”

She wobbled a little and hissed in pain. “Now bring me that horizon, Mr. Sparrow."

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” he laughed, before sweeping her off his feet and into his arms. “Once we get a drink in you and we both get some clothes on.” And with that he carried her, protesting hoarsely and kicking her feet, into their cabin.

After rum fortified with honey and slices of orange and lemon - mostly to soothe Jenny’s throat, although he found the flavor combinations pleasant, John dressed and maneuvered the Pearl. Winds from unearthly skies filled the sails, speeding her passage out of the harbor. It didn’t fill him with confidence. The magician had calmed the ship once already, so what would prevent it again.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” a low, musical voice said from the main deck. “We have been given to understand that you require assistance with your ship.”

He craned his head, and managed not to swear at the sight of a half-dozen outlandishly dressed warriors. Fairies. “Ah. Welcome, Good Neighbors,” he said carefully. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“We have heard the whispers in the wind,” said one of the Gentle Folk. “Máthair Inbhuanaithe stirs, and Her gaze is upon you. Her soul directs us to your aid.”

“That’s... nice,” John managed. “Well then, let’s find us a wizard!”
 
She never could get used to the presence of the fairies. Their armor was strange, swooping here and pointing sharply there, and they moved as though they were moving through both planes at once. Their hair floated on an intangible wind and they walked as though through water, though their feet stayed on the deck. For a people so lithe and slender, they were deceptively strong. The crew easily managed the ship as well as one three times their size, sometimes moving faster than she could see with her naked eye. The half-naked blond man (did they classify themselves as men and women?) eyed her as she walked by but didn't stop hauling rope. His muscles barely seemed to move under his skin as he did so, as though he were more a series of statues depicted hauling rope than an actual living being. On the stairs to the forecastle she passed the naked redhead coming the other direction. The woman smiled, showing her wickedly pointed teeth, but said nothing. None of them said anything, in fact; the ship was eerily silent as John didn't seem to have to give orders and the fae coordinated themselves without speaking aloud, like a rehearsed dance.

"So what's the plan?" Jenny asked her husband as she joined him at the wheel. She murmured, feeling as though she had to keep her voice low or else break the silence like a stone shattering a glass window. It was like being in church, but disturbingly quieter. "We capture Chang's ship, take him aboard, let the rest of the crew go...then what? How do we know this 'fengsheng' thing when we see it? Where do we take it? Do we take him to the Locker then bring it wherever, or vice-versa?" She glanced down at the crew and leaned in to whisper in John's ear. "And what are they really doing here? I don't like it..."
 
John was on edge watching the Good Neighbors crew his ship. It wasn’t right, having them on board. Wasn’t right, the way they silently did the work of a crew ten times their size. Wasn’t right, the way they all watched Jenny as if searching for something. What were they looking for? They barely reacted to him, except to regard him with a sort of amused contempt.

"So what's the plan?" Jenny asked as she joined him at the wheel.

“I don’t know, love,” he replied, adjusting the wheel slightly. “We found the White Lotus, like Anne said we needed to do. But...”. He trailed off. They hadn’t found help, not that he’d seen. All he’d found, at least, was a tawdry fuck and a strong sense of guilt for betraying Henny.

"We capture Chang's ship,” she whispered, “take him aboard, let the rest of the crew go...then what? How do we know this 'fengsheng' thing when we see it? Where do we take it? Do we take him to the Locker thenbring it wherever, or vice-versa?"

“I think we worry about taking the ship, first,” John temporized. “This fangsheng thing, from Anne’s description, was two interlocking diamonds carved out of jade. I guess we just loot his ship until we find it.”

She glanced down at the crew and leaned in to whisper in John's ear. "And what are they really doing here? I don't like it..”

“I don’t like dealing with the Good Neighbors at all,” he replied, remembering earlier encounters. “But didn’t the stories you read the kids say they aren’t spirits, not like angels or ghosts are? They’re something else.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Powers directed them to help us?”

“A sail!” called the lookout, the female with the purple wings. “Three points to starboard!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “no time to worry now. Hoist the colors!” he called. “Run out the guns and step lively!”

“No,” declared the shirtless blonde fairy.

“No?” demanded John with an edge in his voice. Good Neighbors or not, the Pearl was his ship and he would not be disobeyed. “And why..?”

“Your cannons are wrought of iron,” the fairy replied serenely. “We dare not touch them.”

With a deep sigh, John appealed to the heavens for patience. They didn’t answer, but he saw his flag snapping no in the breeze. “Right, then, he decided. “Hoist all sails. We’ll board the bastard!”
 
They didn't go down without a fight, that was for certain. Jenny had called over a warning, to surrender peacefully or else, but they had only laughed at her as the storm gathered out of a clear blue sky. The Pearl shook as it had before, but this time the crew didn't disappear. Instead they fought with their otherworldly weapons--which were presumably not made of iron--once Jack and Jenny had boarded. They hadn't swung over as the captains had, but seemed to just...appear, blades flashing as they cut down crewmen.

"Zhàn qǐlái, méiyǒu rén bìxū sǐ!" Jenny called above the melee. She held her sword to the throat of a big fella who was apparently important, because there was hesitation from the crew.

"Shuí shuō de?" demanded one of the crew, stepping forward. It was the same ornately robed figure who had offered them a flippant bow before. Chang Tao Ling.

She scowled. "Hóng Zhēnnī shuō."

The tension was broken when the crew started laughing at them. "Hóng Zhēnnī is a fairy tale," Chang called, "told to new recruits to frighten them into obedience."

"Well if you hadn't noticed, friend," she retorted, pressing her blade a little more firmly against her captive's neck, "you're surrounded by fairies. You love your men and they love you; nobody wants anyone else to die. Well...except perhaps Ted over there." She jerked her head to the burly fairy in plate armor whose face she had yet to see, obscured as it was by his hair. "We will kill them one by one, starting with this one, until you come with us. They can go in peace once we get what we came for."

"And what is that?" Chang demanded.

"What you stole from the Eternal Venerable Mother." Both the pirate and the fairies stirred at her naming of the Power, but nobody moved from their place. "Oh, and you. We came for you too." Jenny let a beat pass before prompting, "Well?"
 
“No!” The Chinese wizard barked. “While I hold the fangsheng, no God or demon or spirit can touch me!” He glared at Jenny. “Death itself cannot touch me! I do not fear you or your threats, Hóng Zhēnni!”

“If I may?” John interrupted, sauntering forward and examining the captive. “It seems to me, friend, that you’re forgetting a few things.”

“What is that, you simpering baboon?” The wizard laughed.

“Simpering baboon?” John blinked, then glanced at Jenny. “That’s a new one, that is. I respect a man willing to get creative with insults. But...”. He held up his hand, fingers extended. “The Good Neighbors aren’t gods or demons or spirits, not really.” He folded a finger down. “And Hóng Zhēnni isn’t one either,”. He folded down another finger. “And neither am I.”

“What else?” The wizard asked after a moment.

“What else what?” John asked, confused.

The wizard nodded. “You dtill have a finger and thumb up. What else am I forgetting?”

“Hm?” John stared at his hand in surprise. “Oh. Oh, that. Well...”. He reached over and plucked a pin from the man’s hat. “They’re for this,” he said, showing him the carved jade interlocked diamonds. Then he jerked his hand back as the wizard howled in despair and tried to lunge for it. “Ah, ah,” he risked. “I found it fair and square.”

Grinning at Jenny, he flipped the pin into the air and caught it. “Shall we go?”
 
The North Sea, off of Dunkirk
27 December, 1810

"Got 'em! There off the port bow!" Jenny lowered the spyglass and squinted against the drizzle, pointing to the wallowing ship. They had been following the ship for about twelve hours. Their mooring cables had snapped, pulling them out to sea, and some hours ago they'd struck a rock, losing their rudder and springing several leaks. Now they were finally starting to go under. One mast, then another, then the third cracked and fell overboard. The second had smashed most of the lifeboats and she could see now that one of them was already swamped and the other two not entirely full. "There's some innocents there that we're picking up," she mentioned, leaping over the castle railing and landing on the deck below, "so I'll make up some hammocks shall I?"

There was a spring in her step as she moved below decks to get things ready for the dead and dying civilians they were about to take on board. Jenny always seemed most enthusiastic about their job when they were chasing down an East India Company ship; her memory was long and her grudges even longer. It wasn't very Christian of her, she knew...but maybe that's why she had been brought back, apart from her love for John; to learn the true meaning of charity. Whistling while she worked, she tied up hammocks and put on an enormous pot of soup and several kettles of tea. They were taking on more than three hundred passengers, after all, and although they were dead (even if they didn't know it yet) she was certain a few comforts might help ease the transition. With everything ready as they neared the wreck Jenny checked the manifest once more to make sure everything was in order. Her finger paused in its journey down the page as she found a name that had somehow escaped her notice before.

"John!" She staggered up the steps, tossed against the wall by the choppy seas, and found that she no longer had to shout to be heard as the storm had died down. Still she rushed up to the wheel, finger holding her place in the book tucked under her arm. "John, we've got a problem." She flipped it open and pointed to the name she had found among the list of the dead:

Nathaniel Sparrow.
 
There was a time, John knew, when he’d have to struggle with the ship’s wheel when the wind howled and the waves crashed. But that was a long time ago, and he knew that no mortal storm could trouble or hinder the Black Pearl. By now, he was beginning to suspect he could sail her on a morning dew, if it was necessary to perform his duty.

Ahead of them was the foundered ship, hung up on rocks and battered by the storm. The poor devils were, just barely, in sight of land. But there’d be no help for them from that quarter, nor from any other. No power on earth could save the ship or most of the passengers and crew, and no power in the heavens was permitted to save them. Events had to run their course.

He hated it, but it was true. Where would it end, if they started? Fleets of divine warships shattering French or English lines? Angels killing angels in Austrian wars?

With a grimace and a shake of his head, he pushed the thought aside. No time to be woolgathering now. He’d have to be hauling dead men from the sea, soon enough, and that required his full attention. No need to miss someone, after all. Will would lose his shit, and more importantly they’d have to go and track down the lost soul.

“John!”

Jenny was making her way up the stairs, clinging to the railing with one hand and waving a book over her head. No, not a book. The book. The one with the lists of the dead to be ferried off to Fiddker’s Green. “John,” she called again, pushing the book into his chest, “we’ve got a problem!”

He looked where she was pointing, skimming over the list of names. Then he saw the one she was referencing. Nathaniel Sparrow. “One of ours?” he asked, more out of reflex than anything else. He knew the lad named there was one of their descendent’s, knew it in his bones.

“We can’t...” he befan, But the pain in Henny’s face was plain. They’d visited the graves of their children and grandchildren before, the ones that had graves, and he knew how the sight had tortured her. No matter that they both knew there was a heaven out there, and that they’d see their family again. No matter that Jenny could go there now, wait for him with their children and their descendent’s. No matter that Anne had taken to dropping by unannounced, once every few decades, to visit and bring news (especially when Will Turner was about...).

“I... I can’t promise anything,” he said. “But if he’s not drowned yet, we’ll fish him out alive. And land him somewhere.” He grinned. “What harm could it do?”
 
"Bloody hell," Jenny grunted, splashing through the wreck as it continued its journey to the bottom of the ocean. Those who hadn't automatically appeared aboard sometimes needed help finding their way away from their bodies, "toward the light" as they said. "Buncha laskars. Do you know what an administrative nightmare this is going to be?" There were a number of Britons, and so far she had counted eight black women, probably servants, among the bodies, but the vast majority were Indians.

Afterlives which involved reincarnation were more complicated than simply dropping the souls at Fiddler's Green and taking off again. The process wasn't automatic like may Hindus assumed, but involved a lot of waiting and assessment before they were finally assigned their new lives or released into Nirvana. In that time the souls were often stuck aboard the Black Pearl, with Jenny needing to send Anne or some other angel to pester the powers at least once a week until the job was done. It fell upon the Sparrows to not only give the souls their new assignments, but also to ferry them back to the land of the living, whereupon they disappeared into their new bodies. The first time it had happened they'd panicked, thinking they'd lost a boat of five hundred souls who had boarded at Fiddler's Green from other ships. Jenny was half convinced it was at least partly a conspiracy to get her fed up enough to come ashore, trapping her away from her husband for eternity, and she wasn't falling for it. But mostly what irked her was the miles of red tape and the waiting. She hated waiting anymore.

"We'll be there for weeks," she continued grumbling. "The resupply alone isn't worth it and-- Oh John..." Jenny's voice was suddenly very quiet. She had turned over the body of a man in the uniform of the king's navy and she knew. Tenderly she pulled a few wet locks of hair from his pale face and the ship's deck shuddered beneath her feet as they stood nearly hip-deep in water on the sinking ship. "Oh, my boy...He looks so much like his father."

Jenny didn't know anymore who his father actually was, apart from very likely being yet another John Sparrow; when she mentioned his father she meant her own son, his many-times-great grandfather. She never could get out of her mind, whether she were living or not, how alone he must have felt when he died at thirty-three, gutshot on the deck of his ship, thousands of miles from home somewhere around the tip of South America, nobody to hold him as he lay dying, cold in the southern heat. His first mate, Shane she thought his name had been, had been kind enough to insist upon bringing his body home and he had tried his best to make her boy look presentable but the evidence had been clear. He had been trampled underfoot as the battle had waged on, broken bones and burst vessels adding to the pain of his slow but inevitable death.

"I swore the sea would never take another Sparrow away from me," she sniffled. A tear dripped down her nose and created a small ripple in the water around him. She was momentarily distracted by the way his hair floated like a halo around his head before she noticed imperceptibly--probably non-existent to a mortal being--a very faint heartbeat, like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. "H-he's alive...He's alive!" She turned and shouted to her husband. "John, he's alive! Help me get him aboard, we've got to save him!"
 
John sloshed through knee-deep water, the swaying gait that looked so comical on land helping him maintain his balance as the wrecked ship rose and fell with each thrust of the tide. Jenny was bitching, running through her standard litany of complaints that helped her get through the work she’d volunteered to help him with. He didn’t blame her - the afterlife was far weirder and more complex than he’d expected.

And then she found the boy.

“Oh, my boy...” she sniffed, rolling the body over, “He looks so much like his father."

Hyperbole, that. But he did have the Sparrow family look. Enough so that he might have been looking at poor little Jack, who hadn’t been so little when he’d died at sea. Sniffing a little, feeling his emotions threaten to overwhelm his as memory merged with reality, he rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I swore the sea would never take another Sparrow away from me," she sniffled.

“It hasn’t,” he murmured. “He’s here with family. At the end.”

Jenny didn’t respond at first, silently grieving for the death of a multiple-great-grandchild they’d never met. But then she jerked forward, touching his cheek. “H-he's alive...He's alive!"

“He is?” He leaned in, looking. Sure enough, the boy - man - was breathing. Just a little, but he was still breathing.

She turned to him, pleading. "John, he's alive! Help me get him aboard, we've got to save him!"

“All right,” he agreed, scooping him up. “I think he’s the last one.” Accustomed as he was to hauling the dead around, the living man felt strangely heavy in his arms. “Let’s get going by, before she breaks up,” he added as thunder rolled.

-*-

“Hey! You!” John snapped, pointing at one of the dead sailors who was dressing down one of the Indians. “This is my ship, so lay off!”

“I’m grateful you rescued us,” huffed the sailor, “But I do not approve of your high-handed...”

“Shhh,” John interrupted, raising his hand and resting a finger on the man’s lips. “All of you are equal aboard the Black Pearl, and you’re all bound for the same harbor now.”

Leaving the man confused, he swaggered over to Jenny. “Our boy’s resting in our cabin. I reckon the best thing to do would be to leave him on the beach, and weigh anchor for Fiddler’s Green.”
 
"Our boy's resting in our cabin," John informed her. "I reckon the best thing to do would be to leave him on the beach, and weigh anchor for Fiddler's Green."

Jenny sniffed and nodded. The storm had died down and they were out of the pull of the sinking ship--not that she could have pulled the Pearl down with her if she'd tried, but it was habit--heading for land. They would be there in an hour or two. Surely she could...

"I'll be right back." As the ship headed for shore she stepped past him and into the cabin. His breathing was steadier now that they'd gotten the water out of his lungs and she tenderly reached forward to tuck a stray bit of damp hair out of his face. He took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered open; he was too sluggish to be alarmed, but confusion was clear in his eyes. "Nat, right?" Jenny didn't know how she knew what he was called, but she did. "Nat Sparrow?" He nodded. "You almost drowned, Nat, but you're safe now. We're bringing you back to shore. Get some rest." She leaned forward to kiss his forehead and he nodded.

"Thank you," he rasped before passing out again.

~*~

"He'll be found, won't he?" Jenny fretted as they pulled away from shore. They'd left Nat on the beach, having pulled him gently through the surf again to make it look as though he'd washed up. The lifeboats landing nearly half a mile off didn't see the spectral ship or their crewmate's rescuers, preoccupied with their own survival. "He's safe. The sea hasn't gotten him, and hopefully he'll learn better than to go back."
 
“He’ll be fine,” John assured her, pulling at the oars. We left him just above the high tide mark, and rescue parties will be out soon enough now that the lifeboats are making land.” He nodded at the receding figure. “Maybe a bad cold, but if he’s got any sense he’ll stay by a fire until he’s warmed up.”

“He's safe,” Jenny sighed. “The sea hasn't gotten him, and hopefully he'll learn better than to go back."

“I’m not sure there’s a Sparrow gone to sea who ever learned that lesson,” he laughed, then quickly turned serious. “But this one’s not named Jack, at least. He’s got a chance of escaping the family curse.”

That still galled him, the way it continued down the family line and afflicted each new generation. Sure, maybe he’d deserved it for robbing a tomb. But his children and grandchildren sure as hell didn’t, and if he had half a chance he was going to stuff Bast in a burlap sack and toss her off a bridge for it. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he added, setting his back to it. “But we’ve got to get the Pearl underway - we’re due in Fiddler’s Green soon enough.” He grinned. “And Anne said she’d bring the rest of the kids round to visit, if we had a chance to stay in port for a bit. Remember?”

Not that such visits weren’t strange in their own way. If nothing else, he still remembered their children as, well, children. Not as adults, and certainly not as adults who’d grown old and died. “Look ahead, look astern, look the weather in the lee,” he sang, trying to distract himself from the grim thoughts. “Blow high! Blow low! And so sailed we!”

-*-

Nate Sparrow stirred fitfully, then heaved himself over in his back. The effort set him coughing, forcing him to sit up as his chest heaved violently. When he was done, his lungs burned like they were full of seawater. “Ugh,” he croaked, peering around. “Where am I?”

Last he remembered, he’d been trapped belowdecks with the storm surge battering him against the hull. And then... a dream? Something about a galleon, and a pretty lady who’d reminded him of his own sainted mother? And now he was on a beach.

“Seems real enough,” he decided, gripping a fistfull if wet sand and letting it trickle through his fingers. Then he started coughing again.
 
Normandy
October, 1812

"I just have a bad feeling, that's all." Emmaline sighed as she helped her husband with his coat. "The sea wants you, Nat."

"Well it isn't going to get me, Em," Nat assured her, kissing her forehead. "I've got too much to live for."

"I have dreams," she said pleadingly. "A dark shadow sort of thing following you around, and a woman who calls to you from the waves and the storm."

"I was saved by a mermaid," he reminded her, "not lured to my death by one." It was only half a joke that a mermaid had pulled him up onto the beach where she had found him, but he wasn't about to admit to her that he might now secretly believe in mermaids when he wasn't even exactly certain if sea turtles existed. He'd seen one and not the other, but saying it aloud just sounded silly.

"I know I can't stop you when you've set your mind to it," she sighed, "but know that when you drown you can't say I didn't tell you so."

"You absolutely did tell me so," he confirmed, humoring her. "But I will always come home to you. Both of you. I promise." Nat kissed his wife again then leaned down to kiss their son, Jacques, who was nearly two months old and the light of their lives. Every time he went out Emmaline said she had dreams, but almost out of spite he made sure to come back...and not to tell her that sometimes it did seem like the sea was intentionally trying to drown him.

~*~

Somewhere at Sea

"You what?!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Will Turner!" Jenny pointed a finger sharply in his face, drawing him up short. "You are never too old to put over my knee!"

The brief, guilty thought flitted across his mind that such a thing or its reverse sounded tempting. But Elizabeth was waiting for him. "Oh don't start that 'mother' shit with me again!" he snapped back. "There are balances and that balance is very delicate. You know this!"

"Well the sea seems to be disproportionately balanced against my family," she argued hotly, "so what does it matter that I've taken one Sparrow from her when she's taken countless from me? Hardly seems fair."

"Fair...!" He made an aborted gesture of frustration, then started to look to Jack to get his woman under control. Sensing that that would end well for neither of them he chose to refocus on Jenny. "Fair's got nothing to do with it, Mrs. Sparrow! It's about the Universal balance, about the Book Of Life And Death! About doing your goddamned job!"

"I did my goddamned job! I kept my family safe! Or have you forgotten that's why I took this job to begin with?" Jenny was flushed with anger, hands on her hips, jaw set as the two shouted at each other with five feet between them. After a few angry moments of staring one another down Will made a noise of frustration and ran a hand through his hair.

"People are dying, Mrs. Sparrow," he said eventually, "and not the right people. I mean, are a thousand lives really worth just one Sparrow? Particularly when the Powers have dubbed the Jack Sparrow himself," he gestured at John, "as worth only a hundred? Does that strike you as fair? Because that's the toll we're looking at already, you know. I've taken away a thousand poor souls who weren't slated to die for years hence."

"Don't you talk to me about fair when it comes to them," Jenny snarled, unwilling to consider this viewpoint. "Don't you dare."
 
“Hold on, here,” John said, handing mugs around. “Let’s everyone get some rum in them and calm down, which is not a sentence I ever expected to say in my life but there we are.” He whispered naked at Jenny and hoisted his drink. After a moment, Will did the same.

“Look,” Will said, trying again, “this can’t...”

“Why not?” John interrupted, refilling his mug. “I mean, I really don’t see what you’re worked up about, mate. Sure the Powers have their knickers in a twist, but...”

“Do you...”. Will gaped at him. “Do you really not understand what’s going on?”

Shrugging, John took a seat and kicked his feet up. “We saved our boy, and the Powers are upset. And now some people are dying early, and they’re pissed.” He took a drink. “Lots of people escape death, Will. Lots get cut down early, too. I don’t see...”

“That’s not...” Will barked, then drew a deep breath. “Jack. Jenny. You’re thinking like mortals. Yes, it looks like people escape death or die early all the time. But, well.” He took a seat, and downed half his mug. “That’s not how it actually works. Lifespans are allotted, and people have set times when they die. That’s how we know when and where to find them.”

Jack set his drink on the table. Suddenly, the rum tasted sour. “I don’t think I like the way that sounds.”

“Do you think I do?” Will shit back. “But it is what it is, Jack.”

“So what’s this got to do with our boy, Will?” John demanded.

“Because by saving your boy,” Will snapped back, “you’ve destabilized the world around him.” He held up a hand. “I get it. I really do. It’s hard to be away from family, hard to see nothing but death after death. And then you saw family, and I understand the impulse. But death is still looking for Nathaniel Sparrow. Still looking, but can’t find him because he’s not where he should be.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me, Will,” John laughed.

“It’s not.” Will’s expression was grim. “Because death surrounds him, follows him everywhere. And because it can’t find him, other people are dying in his wake.” He sighed. “The world is dying around him. It’s weakening the walls, allowing the Itherwirlds to bleed in around him. People die in accidents, before their time. Ghosts follow him, and God alone knows what else will slip through if this isn’t made right.”
 
"God alone knows what's already slipped through, through no fault of our own," Jenny argued stubbornly. "Monsters and fae and the like, screwing everything up for everyone else with no regard to the so-called natural order or the laws of nature and man." She hid her face in her drink, refusing to let them see the blush. She couldn't talk about the so-called "Good Neighbors" anymore without thinking about that hazy encounter with them nearly a decade ago. She didn't remember everything and what she did remember didn't seem to be in the right order, but it was all scandalous either way. All she could hope was that John didn't remember what they'd done, what she had done. They'd never talked about it and she didn't plan to. "We're not responsible for the cracks in the world."

"He has a son." Will hadn't wanted to bring it up, but there was clearly going to be no other way to reach her; children were her weakness.

"What?" Jenny sat up a little straighter. Clearly he had finally gotten her attention.

"Nathaniel Sparrow has a son, a baby who was never supposed to have been born." He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his forehead against his hand, elbow on the table. "That poor boy is going to lead a cursed life no matter what, because he isn't supposed to exist. But the Powers have said they'll do what they can to shield him...if you bring them Nathaniel." He watched Jenny as she chewed on her lip, weighing their options. "It's one life that shouldn't be for another, but with the way death follows that boy, I would suggest you make a decision before you lose them both."

For once Jenny had no retort. Anger still radiated from her, but she stared into her mug, thinking. "Let us talk about it. Privately," she finally said. "And we'll do what we do."
 
John stared at Will, eyes hard and cold. “Tell me, Captain Turner,” he asked. “Do I call you a manipulative bastard. Or the Powers?”

Will shrugged, and drained his drink. “Either. It’s something I learned from a famous pirate, though, a long time ago. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Name of Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“I,” John replied, holding up a finger and pointing it at Will, “may have deserved that.” He lowered his finger, glanced at his wife, then looked back. “But I’m going to ask you - politely - to get the hell off my ship while we talk about this.”

“Fair enough,” Will replied, picking up his hat as he rose. “I’ll be back in the morning for your answer.” He pased. “Jack? I...”

“I know, Will,” John sighed. “But, for nw? Get out.”

He stood, watching until the door closed and listening until he no longer heard the sound of boots on the deck. Then, wearily, he sat and took Jenny’s hand. “Talk to me, love,” he said sadly. “What do you want to do?”

She didn’t respond immediate. “I mean, we could tell them to go to hell. Strike the colors, and set out in our own.” A brief chuckle. “Not like I have a history of taking orders well, right?@
 
Jenny didn't answer immediately. She knew what she ought to do. She knew what made the most sense to do. But it wasn't what she wanted to do. One thing that had been particularly freeing about death was that it had freed her, for the most part, from obligation. Morals were morals, certainly...but even those were fuzzy at times. Mostly they went wherever they pleased, hung around whoever they wanted, ate and drank to excess when the mood struck them. Certainly it was a more extravagant lifestyle than they had led in life, but they were kind and generous--as much as a pair of psychopomps could be--and harmed none who weren't already slated to die. Those who were, they tried to make it as painless as possible, and calm the inevitable post-death panic. But for over half a century she had become accustomed to doing precisely what she pleased when she pleased, and never mind about obligations. Now, it seemed, those obligations were beginning to catch up with her.

When John suggested they go rogue, she shook her head. "We're here by the grace of the Powers, John," she pointed out, her voice hollow. "Sure, you've got a debt to work off...but they could just send you to the Locker and call it square. And me...?" Jenny laughed shortly. "I'm not sure I'm even supposed to be here. They could likely yank me back to wherever it is I went and send me to whatever eternal perdition they wish. And it would be eternal, John, for both of us. I think it's pretty clear the Powers have no problem with a punishment lasting forever." Finally she looked up at him, her eyes pained. "I think we've got to go after Nat."
 
John drummed his fingers on the table, not liking the bleakness in Jenny’s tone. Immortality was grating on her, wearying her in a way it didn’t weary him. Perhaps because he was intended to be here, escorting the dead to Fiddler’s Green as he hunted the hundred souls that would free him, and she wasn’t? Or was it some quality in him, the same that had driven him back to the sea time and again? No. That wasn’t it. He’d gone to sea to escape, dreading the helplessness that came with watching Anne die. There was no magic, no romance or special qualities, not in that.

Maybe it was the fae, and the bizarre dreams - were they dreams? - that had come with their brief time in China. She’d seemed distant and withdrawn since then, as if she knew about his infidelity. But she hadn’t said anything.

“I think we have to,” he sighed, reaching across the table to take her hand. After a moment, though, he smiled a cocky little grin. “But it won’t be Johnathan and Jennifer Sparrow going after him.” Grinning wider, he released her and rose, grabbing a small pot of kohl from a shelf. “No, love. This calls for something special.”

He lined his eyes with the black paste, erect stance softening into an insouciant slouch as he did. “See, Johnathan and Jennifer? They play by the rules? But Red Jenny and old Captain Jack?” Turning, he swayed just a little as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. “They don’t, love. They cheat, and that’s Nat’s best chance, isn’t it?”
 
Jenny squeezed her husband's hand when he took hers. But she looked up in curiosity when he suggested it wouldn't be them going after their progeny. With a frown she watched as he grabbed up a pot, and her mouth fell open slightly as he lined his eyes with that damnable black shit. She wanted to grab the pot from him and hurl it out the porthole, but remained in her seat for fear of starting a fight that would evolve into something else altogether.

"Oh John!" she cried in dismay. "No!"

"See, Johnathan and Jennifer? They play by the rules. But Red Jenny and Captain Jack?" Turning, he swayed just a little as he hooked his thumbs in his belt. Jenny had found that swaying swagger charming at first, but as the years had worn on and he had been gone for longer and longer intervals it had come to irritate her, to symbolize just as much as the kohl his disregard for his family and his home. "They don't, love. They cheat, and that's Nat's best chance, isn't it?"

"John you heard what Will said!" Jenny protested, refusing as she always had (outside of the context of erotic games) to call him Jack. "He can't cheat, not this time, and not with our help. And...I don't think I can." Her eyes darted to the chest of Chinese goods she had put away long ago, rarely to come out of storage but also never to be thrown overboard or given away. Why she hadn't gotten rid of them, she didn't know. "Red Jenny is a murderer, John. She's a murderer and a thief with few scruples and no mercy. I put her behind me long ago. I don't..." She couldn't honestly say that she didn't want to be Red Jenny again. Red Jenny had, after all, made her feel sexy, powerful...free. But Red Jenny had also done terrible things in the name of survival...and she was afraid to find out whether it had only been for survival, whether she had actually liked the things she had done. With an aborted gesture at the chest she sighed and shook her head.

"I don't know," she said after a few minutes thought. "What exactly would they do?" They she'd called them, as though Captain Jack Sparrow and Red Jenny weren't a part of who they both had been, who they both were.
 
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