Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Returning

The first thing Jack was aware of was that it hurt to breathe. Every breath sent pain through his chest, radiating out from two points on the left of his torso.
His eyes flickered open slowly, looking around in confusion.

He was lying on his back in a berth, in a room that definitely wasn't his cabin on the Wicked Wench. He took in his surroundings silently, the wooden walls, the abundance of natural light coming through large windows, a sturdy table at one end of the room. There were several empty berths on the other side of his, all neatly made.

The light glittered on various instruments hanging on the wall by the table, a large steel saw and numerous knives the first things he noticed, along with forceps and tweezers of varying sizes and many other things used for different medical purposes.

Now, he knew where he was. In the surgery of a ship. On his second look, he noticed how dark the wood was, and the size of the room. It was familiar now. He had a pretty good idea that he was aboard the Troubadour and closed his eyes briefly.
'Well, fuck.' He thought in resignation. 'What the fuck are the chances of this?'

Turning his head, Jack was startled to find that he wasn't alone. Panic swept through him as he realised his father was seated alongside him.

His feathered hat was tilted low, shading his face and one hand rested on the mattress, very close to Jack's. Jack looked away, fear roiling in his gut. He let out a low whimper of pain, as his chest ached.

"Astóirín?"

"Captain."

"Why did you do it?"

The low question was laced with accusation as eyes pinned Jack in place, a stare that was capable of cowering most.

"I wanted to choose my own destiny."

His voice was quiet, laced with pain, but still clear enough to be heard by the other two occupants of the room.
"Didn't want to go blindly into a life of piracy without at least exploring other options."

"So you decided to go into the exact opposite organisation, the people responsible for condemning pirates to death. What would you have done if they'd told you to put a noose round my neck?"

Jack's eyes flickered closed.

"Would you have done it?" Teague's voice had dropped almost to a growl as he stared expectantly at his son. His hat had been removed and now lay on his knees.

Eyes still closed, Jack shook his head slightly. His breathing hitched and he whimpered in distress, hand touching his bandaged chest.

"I expect an answer-"

"Edward, enough."

The words were firm, spoken by the petite auburn-haired woman who had emerged from the corner. She placed a small glass bottle into Jack's hand before crossing her arms over her chest, chin slightly lifted as her gaze fixed on Teague.

He rounded on her. "I have a right to-"

"Edward, I swear to Christ I will throw you out of my surgery. Stop upsetting my patient." Soracha's eyes bored into his, a slow fire building in their emerald depths.

Jack had taken the contents of the bottle, looking at the bandages on his wrist for a moment. "No. I wouldn't have done it." He winced as he shifted his position. "I can't believe you had to even fucking ask that."

Teague tipped his head back and exhaled slowly. "He branded you?"

"Yes. Because I freed slaves instead of transporting them."

Soracha, who had been checking Jack's injuries, straightened up at his words.
"He got you to transport slaves?" she asked, incredulous.

Jack's eyes flashed black briefly, burning with rage. "By neglecting to tell me what my "cargo" was, he had one hundred slaves in my hold when I departed. I freed them, returned to London and confronted him on the Wench, where he branded and shot me before-"

"-setting the ship alight." Teague finished quietly. "Where we found you floating lifelessly among the wreckage."

He wasn't looking at Jack, gaze instead fixed on his hands as he twisted his wedding ring restlessly. The movement drew his son's attention to it, and he frowned slightly as a realisation struck him suddenly.

"Where's Mum?"

His father sighed. "On her way. You've been aboard for a few days now,  I wrote to her when we found you."

Jack frowned again. "You wrote to her?" he echoed in confusion.

"Yes, hang on, gotta take a piss."
Teague slipped out and Jack turned to Soracha, brow furrowed in confusion.
"Why is he writing to Mum? Why isn't she here? Where is she?"

Soracha, who was fixing the pillows he was resting on, paused at the question. She brushed a crease out of the duvet. "She's either at sea on the Lady or in Madagascar, or possibly Shipwreck Cove. I haven't been on her ship since you left."

Emotions flickered over Jack's pale face, a deep sadness appearing in his gaze. "They've been sailing apart for five years?" he eventually murmured quietly.

The doctor nodded. "I've seen her in Shipwreck Cove for meetings but that's it. We've been in Ireland, she seems to be spending most of her time in Madagascar or at sea, though I think she was in Shipwreck for quite a while too."

"Perhaps you'd like to explain why you're writing to Mum and why she isn't here?" Jack asked, an edge on his tone as his father returned.

Teague resumed his previous position, though now with a bottle of deep red wine in hand. He uncorked it and filled a glass, swilling it slowly, looking for all the world like a distinguished gentleman. Finally, he took a sip. Placing the glass on the nightstand, his gaze fixed on Jack again.

"Your mother and me argued after you left, and she left on the Lady. I don't think we've exchanged more than ten words at a time outside of Court meetings while you were away. Court meetings have been completely formal affairs, titles and all included."

Jack gestured to the bottle of wine.

"Hmm, no." His father said flatly. "You're drugged to the eyeballs and alcohol doesn't mix with the shite Soracha brews."

Without turning from the table, Soracha flashed her middle finger over her shoulder at Teague. "I could have just let him die Eddie."

"No, you couldn't. Go let Sahara and Cormac know he's conscious, you did promise them."

Rolling her eyes slightly, the doctor left the surgery, leaving Jack alone with his father, whose gaze hadn't left him in several minutes.

Teague cracked his knuckles, breaking the sudden silence before sipping the wine again.

"So you and Mum are..."

"Taking a break, I guess. She should be here soon."

"Where is "here?" Where are we, geographically?"

"We're nearly in Ireland. Should be docked in a few hours, actually, according to Cormac's latest update."

Jack hummed. "I'm sorry."

"So am I." Teague sighed softly. Leaning over, he placed a lingering kiss on Jack's head, an arm wrapping around his shoulders. "Tá grá agam duit, Astóirín."

Head buried against his father's chest as he leaned into the embrace, Jack's words were muffled as he replied, "I love you too Dad, I love you too."