FOG BOUND

Author: Ebony
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: You/Jack
Categories: Suspense, humor, implied romance

Disclaimer: Let’s make it short and simple for once: I don’t own anything about PotC. Damn it.

Dedication: To Ellie, my loffly online little sister! Thanks for that idea you gave me, luvie, it made all the difference with this. May you have Norrington’s eternal adoration and permission to wear his Catnip Wig whenever you so wish. *grin*

Summary: Spending a few days stocking and tending for the Black Pearl by a quaint coastal town is a task hardly worth any stress. But when an old fable takes form and begins living a life of its own on All Hallows Eve, the darkening evening soon turns into one of the longest and scariest nights you’ve ever experienced. Set Post-CotC, but Pre-NQG.

Author's Note: This is my contribution to the OM board’s Halloween challenge. I’ve had this idea of a ghost story in my head for ages and ages, and so now with Halloween approaching, I thought I’d give it a shot. And here’s the result! So, it’s another of my seasonal fics, set after Call of the Caribbean, but before A Matter of Mistletoe and No Quarter Given. I was supposed to have this all done before the deadline, but as it always happens to me, things get in the way and I run out of time… hence why I post this in parts. I do hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

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“I see a bad moon rising
I see troubles on the way
I see earthquakes and lightning
I see bad times today”
-Bruce Springsteen, ‘Bad Moon Rising’

CHAPTER 1 – Under the Dark Moon

“Say what ye will, Jack, but bad things are on the move tonight. I can feel it, right in me very bones.”

You’re not absolutely certain, but you could’ve sworn you heard a stifled snort of laughter coming from Jack’s direction. Stilling your scribbling hand, you lift your gaze from the tip of the quill and rivet your attention from the stock sheet you’re currently filling with neat rows of writing and figures long enough to cast a sideways glance at Jack and Gibbs. The twosome is standing some seven feet away from the rail on which you’re leaning your side against, a small pot of ink sitting next to you on the rail. You decide you weren’t hearing things, judging by the small smirk that still plays about the corners of Jack’s lips. You doubt the sea chart he’s holding in his hands is that amusing, after all.

“It’s truly amazing, Gibbs, all the things your bones can tell you,” the pirate Captain in question responds lazily without lifting his eyes from the chart, an amused lilt in his smooth voice.

A strong, biting gale blows from the sea and sweeps across the decks, fluttering the lines and weaving through the furled sails of the Pearl, flapping the slack canvas. It has truly been a bleak, depressing day ever since the early hours of the morning; the sky has been a blur of different hues of grey, and it is showing no signs of getting any better. On the contrary, the dark, ominous clouds rolling in on the horizon are boding rain and thunder rather than anything else. It’s unexceptionally chilly, as well, the biting wind only adding to the effect.

There has been no sign of the sun since the Pearl was anchored in the clear, azure waters of the horseshoe-shaped lagoon before the small, nameless town on the coast of Panama two days ago. After the long voyage at sea, most of the supplies were running low and the Pearl had suffered some minor damage in a nasty storm you’d sailed through on the way. The town was an ideal place for restocking and repairs; it was big enough to acquire the necessary goods from, everything from timber to food, but small enough not to be under a close watch of any law enforcements. The latter fact might have to do with the word out on the streets that said the governor of the town was more interested in increasing his own riches and comforts than anything else, and so he cared little which kind of folk stopped by and what they were doing there – so as long as they compensated their presence monetarily and caused no trouble.

In annoyance, you push away windswept locks of hair from your face. You just knew you should’ve tied your hair back today, but instead you’d donned your old bandanna. It’s making a poor job of keeping your stubborn hair out of your face in this accursed wind.

“This be no laughin’ matter,” Gibbs grunts, an edge of indignation tinting his gruff words.

“I’m sure it’s not, mate,” Jack drawls obligingly with a quick glance and a smile to the older man, before concentrating on the chart once again. “I’m sure it’s not…”

Gibbs’ eyes narrow a fraction as he shakes his head slowly, the expression on his face clearly of a man exasperated. Small smile lifts the corners of your mouth; you can relate to Gibbs’ feeling of not being taken seriously by Jack. Sometimes you get the feeling your rare but mostly intense bouts of temper only serve to amuse Jack rather than anything else. Which in turn only serves to annoy you even further. But despite the fact that the man has managed to drive you to your wits’ end a couple of times, you still haven’t slapped Jack even once, having held on to your word you sort of gave to him on Tortuga a few months ago.

“Don’t you just hate it when he does that?” you ask Gibbs with a smirk.

“Never takes you seriously?” Gibbs adds with a smirk of his own, playing along.

“Counters with some witty riposte instead…” you go on, promptly disregarding Jack’s look of resentment of being so ignored by two of his crew.

“I’m standing right here, thanks very much!” Jack speaks up irritably, finally forgetting the map for a moment and shooting a pointed look at both you and Gibbs.

You don’t evade Jack’s gaze, merely raise your brows innocently and purse your lips to stop them from spreading into a mischievous smirk. Gibbs, however, has the correct sense to at least appear repentant, wiping the grin off his face and coughing once.

“Sorry, Captain,” he says obediently.

“Yeah, sorry Jack,” you say as well whilst scribbling another line on the parchment, using a bit more cheerful tone than Gibbs. You can practically feel the weight of Jack’s peeved glare upon you for not calling him by his title, and you bite on your tongue to keep from snickering. You know you’re being insufferable, but sometimes the temptation to needle Jack just a little becomes simply overpowering for you. And besides, it’s not as if Jack doesn’t do his best to rile you more than enough times, so you’re fully entitled for a little payback every now and then. At least, that’s your excuse.

“Remind me again why I took you in my crew, I suddenly can’t seem to make sense out of that particular decision…” Jack mutters mostly to himself, shaking his head.

You beam. “Because you were extremely drunk at the time?”

Jack pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he thinks this. “Ah yes, that was it,” he finally says, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips.

“It’s this accursed place,” Gibbs speaks up grimly, as if the slight bickering between you and Jack never took place. “Bad things happen here every year, on this very night.”

“And just what is so extraordinary about this very night, if I may ask?” Jack drawls, raising his brows in amused enquiry.

Gibbs’ eyes widen, as if that were simply the most foolish question Jack could’ve possibly asked. “Don’t ye know what day it is? All Hallows Eve!” he hisses intensely. “The only day in the year when the borders between the living world and the dead may be lifted! Departed spirits roam the face of the earth, in good and evil… aye, this night bodes no good, mark my words.”

Jack looks mildly exasperated by the quartermaster’s attitude, but you frown in thought. You had almost forgotten that it was indeed the infamous All Hallows Eve today. A day when the veils between past, present and future could be drawn aside, and the dead walk among the living. Having been raised by every essential Irish belief and conviction, you know better than to believe All Hallows Eve to be merely superstitious nonsense.

Peter Byrne was a man who was proud to call himself Irish, and had taught you to be proud and aware of your heritage, as well. Although he was not, like yourself, an overly superstitious person, All Hallows Eve had always been taken seriously by everyone aboard the White Wraith – most of the Wraith’s crew were born and raised in Ireland, as well. The holy day had strong roots in the ancient Celts’ society, for it was a day when the dead were honoured and remembered as the living spirits of the loved ones. You have absolutely no doubt as to why it wouldn’t be true, and why the dead would not be moving among the living this very day. Which is exactly why you find yourself paying closer attention to Gibbs’ words.

“See, there be a tale told in the town, about a woman whose spirit haunts this lagoon. They say bad things happen every All Hallows Eve to those who venture too near the waters, or step into the fog that rises from the sea…”

“Aha,” Jack murmurs thoughtfully, before glancing at Gibbs with that smirk so characteristic of him. “There’s an angry mermaid in the lagoon, then?”

Gibbs exhales patiently, rolling his eyes slightly in exasperation. “No, Captain. Some woman who drowned herself in the lagoon near sixty years ago on the night of All Hallows.”

“Hmm. Personally, I fancy the mermaid theory was more interesting,” Jack mutters with a small frown on his face.

You roll your eyes at Jack’s comment, but as Gibbs starts explaining the full story of the ill-fated lady of the lagoon, your imagination takes flight and conjures up vivid images in your head…

She ran.

With that last, shrill utterance, the woman sank under the black surface of the sea, never to be sighted again. Almost instantly, a storm wind blew from the sea, howling in the air like a ferocious beast. A veil of fog, thick and grey, suddenly rose seemingly under the very waters itself. The impenetrable shroud hung over the lagoon and obscured the horizon – yet it came not past the shoreline and into the town. The cold, strong wind blew through the entire night, and yet the fog never lifted before the first light of the dawn. That is when the townspeople woke to find every sea creature in the lagoon dead, washed up on the sandy shore and floating lifelessly in the clear waters…

You close your eyes for a moment to rid the haunting image of the woman standing waist-deep in the water from your mind. A chill travels down your spine, and an ugly sense of foreboding settles in you. Shaking off the nasty feeling, you focus on Gibbs and his words as he speaks up again.

“They never happened across the girl’s body, but hearsay has it that her jinx has held up strong. I ‘eard some wicked things have happened on this precise day over the years…” Gibbs finishes grimly.

“Wonderful, Jack!” you say sarcastically. “You’ve brought us into a cursed lagoon on the very night of the said jinx. Wasn’t the previous time enough for you?”

“Don’t tell me you actually believe in this fable, as well?” Jack asks incredulously as he fixes his eyes, currently widened with slight surprise, on you. “I never deemed you to be of the superstitious kind.”

“Normally, I’m not. But this is All Hallows Eve we’re talking about. It’s different from any other day in the year. I don’t see why this story could not be real…” you trail off, shrugging a little.

“Aye, I agree with Byrne. If ye don’t mind me suggestin’, Captain, we ought to leave this place before dark,” Gibbs speaks up, apprehension evident in his tone and in his eyes.

“It’s a ghost story to scare children away from the waters, that’s what it is! And from what I gather, you two are long past your childhood days,” Jack remarks with a small, amused smirk, furling up the chart in his hands. “Now, let us be reasonable. We are staying right here tonight. You’ll see, this night will be no different than any other and no spiteful spirits will show up to trouble us. Trust me!” he adds with a grin, nearly hitting Gibbs in the head with the rolled-up chart as he haphazardly flings his arms out to the sides in compelling manner.

Already you feel a tinge of uncertainty; something was bound to go wrong whenever someone said that. Gibbs gives you a long-suffering look, clearly of the opinion that convincing Jack about this matter would be a hopeless undertaking. You return the glance with one of wry amusement, agreeing with him inside your head. Turning your head slightly to study Jack again, you narrow your eyes thoughtfully as you speak up slowly,

“It’s strange, really, that you should not believe in such fables and curses after what we went through only a few months ago. That was very real, was it not? You saw it all with your own eyes. So why are you so averse to believe in this one?”

Jack heaves a small sigh, levelling his steady gaze at you. “Aye, I did saw it with my own two eyes,” he agrees solemnly. “I even experienced it myself. However, there are thousands of tales and fables in the world, and only a fool would think them all to be true. And I am no fool,” he says and pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. “But there is contradiction and paradox, ones that are existent despite their apparent ludicrousness. And believe me, luv, by now I’m fairly used to those.”

You hold Jack’s gaze as you silently mull over his words, carefully reflecting upon them from each point of view. To some, what Jack just said might not have made any sense whatsoever, but you know better than to think anything Jack Sparrow lets known is void of any meaning. That is just not his way. Only sometimes, deciphering the meaning behind his words could be a little bit tricky. However, you had never been one to back down on a challenge. Furrowing your brow a little in thought, you finally speak up what you believe to have been Jack’s message.

“So, you’re saying that you do not outright believe in stories and such hearsay, but you do believe in contradiction. You really think the entire deal with Barbossa and the curse was just… contradiction?”

“A prime example, I’d say. Improbable, yet not impossible,” Jack replies with an edge of complacency in his tone, motioning with the chart like a teacher with a pointer.

You blink, wondering if that made any sense, after all. You’re not quite sure anymore. “You really are one of a kind, Jack.”

Jack’s lopsided grin is both delighted and smug. “And don’t you forget that! Now,” he pauses, shoving the no longer needed chart to Gibbs and clasping his hands together eagerly. “Time for some food and drink. We’ve all earned it!”

You and Gibbs share another knowing look as Jack turns around on his heel and starts his merry trek towards the galley, whistling a cheery tune as he goes.

“It’ll be one of those nights…” Gibbs remarks wearily while shaking his head and following after Jack, in calmer pace.

“I hear ya,” you mutter in response while glancing up to the grey skies, even if Gibbs is already beyond hearing range. An uneasy feeling bubbles in the pit of your stomach as you watch the gathering clouds, ones that darken the horizon all the more. It’s not quite even early evening yet, and it already looks like it’s only a few hours until complete darkness.

You pretend not to notice the light mist that floats around the Pearl, hanging upon the still waters of the lagoon as you stand up and leave the rail, forcing away the shivers that skate down your spine.

* * * *

Dinner was a cheerful event and had you forgetting about the entire story of the lady of the lagoon. Up until Gibbs felt necessary to tell it to everybody else in the galley, as well. Most of the crew, along with Anamaria – and of course Jack - were rather sceptical about the tale, but you still had your qualms. All Hallows really was a different day from any other, and you have heard more than enough tales from reliable sources about strange occurrences on that particular day. It was starting to feel as if you and Gibbs were the only persons actually believing in the tale. You and Gibbs had admirably endured the good-natured ribbing of the others, laughing them off and making light of the situation with the others, although you have a feeling Gibbs’ opinion about the myth had not been changed in the least. It was the same with you. Despite all your rational thinking, you simply could not ward off the strange feeling within you. And it admittedly annoyed you quite a bit.

Now, few hours after the chat with Jack and Gibbs up on the deck, you find yourself strolling the dim, lantern-lit passageways of the Black Pearl, on your way up to check the situation. It was as if some elusive force was egging you on, daring you to prove Gibbs’ tale false. The closer you drew to the stairs leading up to the main deck, the colder you felt, feeling the chilly air snaking down below and blowing through your shirt, touching the skin beneath. You skim one hand lightly along the smooth, cool railing as you reach the stairs and start your ascend, your other hand unconsciously seeking its way to touch the hilt of your cutlass hanging on your hip. The familiarity of the blade’s handle under your fingers jolts you out of it, and you pull your hand away with an annoyed grunt; it was as if you needed reassurance of a weapon to go up to the deck.

“This is ridiculous. When have I ever feared anything else but overly painful death and loneliness?” you mutter under your breath, quickening your pace and stomping the rest of the stairs up hastily. Gibbs’ tale would not get the best of you, All Hallows or nay!

The sight that greets you up on the deck makes you pause, stilling your steps immediately at the end of the stairs. Or rather, doesn’t greet you. You cannot see anything past the thick, grey haze that floats in the air, engulfing the Pearl underneath its cloak. To make matters worse, the evening was starting to slowly darken and turn into night.

You sigh, shaking your head. Isn’t this just bloody wonderful.

Carefully, you take a couple of steps ahead. The visibility is poor, to say the least; you estimate you can see perhaps about six, seven feet ahead of you before the fog slithering in the air swallows up the rest. You shake your head again, starting to slowly stroll along the deck towards the side of the ship. Good thing you have a fairly good knowledge of the Pearl and her structures already. You reach the starboard side and grip the smoothness of the rail with both hands, peering over it. The fog strokes the Pearl’s hull, floating above the waters underneath her – waters you cannot see from the said fog. It’s as if the ship was resting on a great, grey cloud. Straightening your spine and glancing about, you search for any signs of the other crewmembers on deck. Try as you might, you can’t spot any forms through the fog, but that is not what makes your spine suddenly stiffen.

You abruptly realize that not only can you see next to nothing, you also do not hear anything. It’s absolutely silent, eerily so. No ripple of waves against the hull, no groans of timber or flapping of the ropes. No distant sounds of any wildlife from the land, not even the chirping of night insects. No fishes splashing in the sea. It was all too quiet, as if the world had suddenly gone mute. Like wanting to prove you wrong, a gust of freezing wind blows from the obscured horizon, tousling your hair and raising gooseflesh on your skin even through your clothes. Its howl fills your ears for a moment, but just as quickly as it came it suddenly ceases again, leaving behind the oppressive silence. You find yourself staring into the fog as you come to realize the haze did not move anywhere despite the strong squall.

Unwittingly, your fingers curl tighter about the hard wood of the rail, and you swallow thickly. Be rational, you think to yourself, unwilling to let your rampaging imagination alarm you. Everything always has a logical explanation, so why shouldn’t–

Your thoughts are cut off by a loud, horrendously feminine scream of surprised shock you can barely believe left your own mouth as something suddenly grabs you hard from behind with a noisily barked “Boo!”, snaking around your middle and squeezing. Everything happens in seconds as your survival instinct kicks in and all rational thoughts melt away under it; without a second thought, you squirm furiously to distance yourself from your assailant enough to drive your elbow forcefully backwards. The bone connects solidly with a dull thud and elicits a grunt from the aggressor, the pressure about your middle giving away. Wrenching yourself free, you whirl around, already flinging your arm out to strike. But before your clenched fist makes any damage, long fingers curl about your wrist to hold it in a strong grip, effortlessly halting your swing midway.

“The first blow was plenty enough, no need for a second,” Jack comments from his chuckles, the mindless grin on his lips revealing a glint of gold. “Sink me, I’ve never heard you let loose a scream like that!” he says, glee dancing in his eyes and evident in his voice.

You splutter, momentarily thrown off guard by Jack’s presence before you. Gaining control of your wits, you yank your hand away from Jack’s grasp, glowering fiercely. “Damn you, Sparrow!” you yell, feeling your face flushing with anger and mortification over your girly scream. You’ve never emitted a sound like that before in your life. “I’m sorely tempted to teach you some manners you obviously lack, you dippy oaf!” you go on irately, poking a finger sharply against his chest.

“Ah, that sounds like a prelude to a night of passion if I’ve ever heard one,” Jack drawls in response, grinning widely at you and grabbing hold of your stabbing finger with his right hand, while bringing the left to stroke the back of your hand in imitation of a lovers caress. “You blush very charmingly, luv.”

You huff in annoyance, pulling your hand away from his grasp. “There’ll be passion, alright! Just not the kind you had in mind!” you retort and promptly smack him on his arm, even if not with all your might.

“Ow,” Jack almost whines in hurt tone, pulling the infamous puppy dog look of his while rubbing the spot on his arm with his hand. “I’d forgotten how aggressive you can occasionally get.”

“Serves you right,” you grouse, although the sharpest edge of your ire is slowly starting to dwindle.

Jack opens his mouth to make some glib comeback, but Gibbs’ voice floating through the fog interrupts him. “What’s all this ruckus about? I heard screamin’ all the way below.”

Shooting a devious glance at you, Jack smirks shrewdly and addresses his words to the portly quartermaster whose form emerges from the fog, coming to stand next to you and Jack with an enquiring look upon his weathered face.

“Oh, Byrne here saw a spider, that’s all,” Jack replies nonchalantly, his smirk never faltering despite your withering glare.

“Spider…?” Gibbs repeats, obviously greatly bewildered as to why you, of all people, would scream at the sight of a little thing like spider.

“Aye, a spider,” you agree slowly, before throwing a smug smirk of your own in Jack’s direction. “It was big, grabby, shaggy and smelled like rum.”

Gibbs snorts, choking down a laugh while Jack gives you a comical look between amusement and indignation. You give him a wide smirk; revenge is indeed sweet. Jack rolls his eyes, and you think you hear him mutter, “I’m not that shaggy,” under his breath, but you’re not betting on it.

Recovering from his bout of laugh, Gibbs schools his features to a subdued expression, although the mirth never leaves his gaze. “Understandable, in that case,” he remarks with a faint edge of laughter in his gruff tone, but sobers and clears his throat as Jack favours him with a sardonic look. Gibbs clearly decides it’s best to change the subject.

“Haven’t seen a fog this thick in a good number of years…” he trails off with an unfocused look on his face, as if recalling some distant memory. “Looks to be a touch unnatural, says I.”

Jack makes an amused noise from his throat. “Unnatural, aye? Then I suppose that the doxy of the lagoon will bring her wrath upon us next, eh?” he chuckles, raising his brows at the quartermaster.

Gibbs shakes his head, giving Jack a pointed look. “Jack, you should know better than to make light of such matters,” he says, low voice tinged with a shadow of apprehension. “Fate’s a fickle lady, ye never know what can happen with her.”

“And fortunately for me, my good man, she’s always smiled to me at the end of the day,” Jack returns with a pleasant, untroubled smile.

Gibbs cracks a sudden, downright wicked grin. “Aye, after she’s done slapping you about like the rest of your ladies.”

You give a laugh of delight at Gibbs’ witty, most apt comeback. Gibbs has a good point, there. Jack, however, makes a dismissing flicking motion with his right hand. “It’s the outcome that’s of any significance, mate, not the means to an end,” he responds smoothly, a hint of smugness in his tone. You roll your eyes at Jack’s comment, but can’t help but to smile slightly; that really was Jack’s philosophy on life in a nutshell.

“Now, if that concludes our conversation about my dealings with the lady Fortuna…” Jack pauses, giving you and Gibbs a look tinged with regret, not unlike the one he gave Elizabeth while explaining ‘it would never work’ between them. “I fear I must deprive you of my company for the time being. Things to do, matters to manage…”

“…Rum to sample?” you smirk knowingly.

“Hard work calls for relaxing pleasures, luv,” Jack grins. “Feel welcome to join me later on, perhaps we could even finish that stimulating discussion of ours as well, if you catch my drift.”

You smile dryly. “I catch it all too well. Sorry, but it’s my watch tonight.”

“Maybe tomorrow, then,” Jack returns over his shoulder with infinite confidence, already strolling towards his quarters. “Inform me if you should sight any ghosts!” he quips lazily, before his swaying form disappears into the grey fog.

Gibbs chuckles, tinge of admiration in his tone as he speaks up. “Daftest bugger I ever did come across, that man.”

You’re quick to agree. “No doubt about that.”

Gibbs and you exchange a few words before he claps you on the shoulder and takes his leave, mentioning something about a card game. You bid your byes to the older man, listening to his footsteps as he makes his way along the deck, descending the stairs that lead below. You sigh to yourself, feeling slightly tired.

“Of all the wretched evenings to have the night watch,” you mumble to yourself while eyeing the surroundings, but decide there’s no use wallowing in self-pity. Using the Pearl’s rail as a guideline in the fog, you let your palm glide over it lightly as you slowly stroll along the dark deck, gradually slipping into your own musings.

Reaching the bow after a good while of dragging your feet, you sigh again and drape your forearms against the rail as you stand still. What was the use to stand in watch, anyway, when you could not sight a thing beyond this blasted fog? Still, orders were orders, and you’re not one to bail out on them.

You jump as a sudden sloshing sound echoes in the otherwise silent night, your back straightening and head turning towards the sound; it came somewhere around the middle of the vessel. Probably a fish, you think. A big one, but still a fish.

Exhaling soundly, you push yourself away from the rail and start ambling back towards the stern again. You frown as you draw closer to where you think you heard the noise from, more of the deck revealed to you by the fog as you walk along. Your steps falter as you stare at the deck, and you vaguely feel your lips parting from stunned shock.

There are watery marks upon the deck, as if someone sodden to the bone had walked on it. Only they are not footprints; you cannot quite make out what exactly they are. The marks resemble something of dragging a soaking cloth of some kind across the deck, leaving behind a broken trail that disappears in the all-surrounding fog. Round droplet marks speckle the sides of the trail. Shifting your eyes to the rail, you fix your gaze on the slick banister, staring at the glistening drops of water that slowly drip down from the dark wood and splatter soundlessly on the deck. Clenching your jaw, you glance around, frustration mounting within you as the thick fog obscures your vision, shrouding everything in its grey haze.

There is someone uninvited onboard.

The thought has barely run through your mind before your feet are already taking you towards the Captain’s quarters at brisk pace, your hand resting firmly upon the handle of your cutlass.

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AN: I knew I should've started this sooner or write faster or magically make more time to sit by the computer and write. The next chapter will be up as soon as possible. I hope. Me and my seasonal fics. *rolls eyes* Reviews would be adored very muchly. Thank you? :)

TBC...

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