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Agwe (Spirit of the Sea)

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When he kissed Jack, it was deep and slow and with more than a hint of teeth. The sensation of Jack's chapped lips sliding across his, mouth hot and rum sweetened, sent Will's body into a sort of shock. It was like… stepping into the cold night air after laboring for hours in Brown's forge. It was a cool swallow of water sliding down his parched throat.

It was the burn of sunlight and the rush of wind as he stood on deck; a feeling once frequent and familiar, but now fading into mere memory. He spends most of his time in the deep, now, in the perpetual murk of Davy Jones' locker. Will allowed himself a few more moments of tasting Jack's mouth; he went so far as to slip his fingers in the rat's nest of Jack's hair and drew him closer, breathed him in.

He pulled away and coughed up salt water. Jack did the same but managed to retain a strange sort of elegance while Will just choked unattractively. He almost apologized for the water exchanged during their kiss -- he remembered how much it ached and suffocated those first few times -- but Jack seemed unconcerned.

"This is no manner of fair, lad," Jack said, hoarse. He cleaned traces of brine and Will's spit from his lips with his tongue.

Will gave a small, understanding smile. "The trade was more than fair, Jack."

"My soul, yer dear old dad… And what a pretty ship she is, too." He turned and ran an admiring hand over the wood of the Dutchman's railing, which sloughed off a few barnacles and a spare piece of seaweed. "Could use a bit of a cleaning, though."

"Jack." Saying his name brought the pirate around to meet Will's eyes. He looked as he should have, wearing his usual costume and a smudge of kohl. There was a line of worry creased in his brow, though, that was unusual. "You know I'm sorry it had to turn out this way."

Jack lifted an eyebrow, challenging the notion. "Are ye? Does the captain of the Dutchman feel such regret? Can he?"

Will came closer, ignoring or perhaps by then not even noticing all manner of tiny sea life that scuttled about with his movement. He brought his face near Jack's and leaned in, watching the curious widening of Jack's eyes and the longing in them. "Just because my heart is locked in a box does not mean it is dead, Jack Sparrow."

His thought was to kiss him one last time, as a valediction. But it was too cruel. And how fitting was it that their first and only kiss came too late, when none of it mattered any longer? So Will stopped himself and looked his fill at Captain Sparrow and all that might have been. If he hadn't needed to save his father, if Elizabeth had been honorable, if he'd been able to rescue Jack without dealing in that obeah's magic that meant he must pay for what he had taken.

At least Jones was dead. At least Captain Jack Sparrow lived and had his Pearl. At least the Dutchman had a captain, and the Dead Man's Chest had its heart.

He gave the only promise he had left. "I'll come back for you, Jack, when your time comes. For all of you."