Summary: Barbossa proposes a drink, Jack accepts, and both get more than what they bargained for. Jack/BarbossaPost AWE

Inspired by: Mistress D's fanart entitled String of Pearls on

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"Another bottle, an' we'll call it even, mate."

Amber-brown liquid sloshed into a tainted metal tankard. The hollow scrape of a half-empty bottle sliding across the table, two boots thunking mutely as they rested atop the table's edge, the shift of heavy clothing as men made themselves comfortable...

"Even..? Hardly, Jack. You and I will never be even again at this rate."

A second bottle was added, right next to the propped, dirty boots. A ring-filled hand reached out and snatched it up, if only to read the label.

"Suppose we'll always be at odds an' ends won't we, Hector. En't the odds I'm all that interested in." Gold flashed in a mischevious smile. "Just the ends."

Captains Sparrow and Barbossa were drunk. They had been drinking since they walked through the cabin door, and were fairly sure they were entirely drunk. Atleast, they knew they were drunk, but weren't about to let the other know they were. Of course, it was harder on Barbossa's half, considering Jack Sparrow -always- seemed drunk.

Jack took a swig from the half-empty rum bottle, the full one in his hand, ready to open. Barbossa drank from his tankard, watching Jack with his ever weathered eyes.

"The end of a story be th'most interestin' part. I wonder, Jack..." He watched as Sparrow attempted to practically lick the bottle clean, his thin tounge desperately searching for final drops. He looked away, drinking. " How our story ends. An' I wonder if ye find it ironic, you an' me." Hector gestured the room, the table, the rum.

Jack watched him, opening the second bottle. He knew what he meant...many nights, so many years ago, he and his first mate enjoyed drinks in here. At this table. In the same seats, no less. Then, Jack was captain, and Barbossa, his first mate. The story had been told many times since then, whether by friend, foe, or perfect stranger...every pirate alive had heard it once, in some form. Jack had heard it told behind his back so many times, he often confused fiction with reality. What really happened with a romantic notion of his mutiny.

Didn't really matter now. They had a whole slew of new troubles since then. More blame, and more betrayals. Their story was an unhappy one so far, with small specks of happiness thrown in here and there. Most of it came from when they were still friends...still close...closer...Jack wondered if he had more happiness than Barbossa...and convinced himself he did.

"I've come t'believe we live in a cruel irony, mate." He tossed the cork across the table. " From cursed gold to slimy gits to short sobs in white wigs. Death by gunshots, and by...beasties." He took a drink of rum, then reached across to refill Barbossa's tankard.

He didn't know why he asked him in. It was like torturing himself. He wanted a drink...and in all truth, the only decent man he knew to drink with was the man he hated with every fiber of his being. It had been a long time since they last shared a few bottles..and for good reason. Barbossa watched him still. It was almost a sport, observing Jack Sparrow. The Turner boy had even come to him once, asking what he was about. The way to world's end, his little Swann still refusing his company. He asked him how he figured Jack Sparrow. As if he knew? Of course, Barbossa would be proper to ask...in all honesty, he probably knew Jack better than any man alive. Which was bloody ridiculous, seeing as that he couldn't pick the man apart at all.

In actuality, he could. He did, without noticing. He couldn't tell what the man would do next, but somehow, he always knew what he was thinking. Or, atleast, feeling. Jack's eyes were like the sea. They were dark, and if you stared long enough, you could understand how they moved without realizing it, but once you do, you're lost there...for the rest of your life. Barbossa was lost ages ago. He just didn't know it.

Now would be a perfect example. Any other person would have taken Jack's pause as a drunken brain trying to catch up with it's mouth. Barbossa knew better. Even with the creature dead, speaking of the Kraken still bothered him.(He also refused to talk about the Locker.) Taking a drink, Hector remembered the expression Jack wore when they first laid eyes on the massive carcass, beached and rotting...daunted, and confused. Harrowing. Fearful. Jack Sparrow wore such a mask of self-assurance, it was hard to catch anything honest on his rugged face. It was in his eyes...you can see eyes through a mask. It was the same look he got when he questioned his mortality. Sparrow's fear of death somewhat amused Hector. He was an unnatural man. It was only proper the most natural things would send him running.

Though returned from the grave, Hector didn't fear death, but neither was he cocky about it. It was sheer luck the witch had raised him. He wasn't sure she was going to come through for him...but she did. And here he sat. He fully expected to die again, permanently, without many qualms about it...perhaps it would happen soon. Perhaps not. Life in itself was a gamble...and he meant to live this life. He had The Black Pearl. He even had a full hull--s'where all the rum came from in the first place, as well as a collection of gems and jewelry to barter...one piece in particular he didn't have the heart to trade. A long string of thick black pearls.

"Irony need not be cruel, Jack...it's the life it's been added to that be cruel." He drank. "We're wretched men. Only proper the things added to it be wretched as well."

"Well, I don't know about wretched." Jack slipped his feet off the table and sat up, leaning Barbossa's way. "YOU, however..."

"Now, Jaaack, that en't a good idea, insultin' a man wot's givin' ye hospitality an' all."

Jack eyed him, and drank. It was true. Barbossa was being QUITE nice about all this. Come to think of it, how the hell did he get here in the first place? Oh...Ported in Nassau. Ran into the scary one without an eye who alerted Barbossa. And swords were drawn, so on and so on(skipping this part because Hector won--sort of--it's debatable), and...he just invited him onto the ship. Just like that. Invited him onto the Pearl. Jack was facking dumbfounded. He refused right out, but...well...

Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure why he took his invitation. Or why it was given in the first place. Jack was a manipulator, and so usually had the upper hand with every social interaction, and every person he's decided to charm the hell out of to get what he wanted. He understood motives, and general wants. But he -didn't- understand this...it was the lure of rum that made him stay in the first place.

He could have left after the first bottle. Or the second. But...after that, it felt so...cosy. During those silent moments, when they were just slurping down the alchohol, it felt like the past. As comfortable as it once was. Maybe that's what made him stay. To feel that again, in the cabin of his beloved ship, with the one man that he used to trust above all others.

Then again...it could have just been the rum.

"Aye, hospitality at the end of a sword." He drank. Barbossa reached over and snatched the bottle away.

Probably the rum.

"Y'think I needed ye at sword point to sit in my cabin and drink my rum, Jack Sparrow? I've got better things to do."

...Then again...

'Bet he's poisoned it.'

"What?"

'Oh, aye. No doubt, he's poisoned it, why else would the old man invite ye?'

"He's terribly bored." Jack tilted his head and looked at his right shoulder. Right Jack smiled back at him, his tiny gold teeth glinting. Left Jack pulled on his dreadlocks to get his attention again. 'Exactly. So he decided to watch you writhe in pain from some horrible bowel-eating concoction, eh?'

It wasn't so much he disliked the small Jacks. He rather preferred the larger ones, albeit, scary as they could be. They were just larger, and...gave more to the conversation. There were usually more than two, so many of them would think at one time, made things go alot faster. The smaller ones usually showed up when he was feeling a little more tipsy than usual. They would just pull him in different directions, and it was Jack who would eventually solve it himself. The larger ones...they made him think...honestly think. And he could talk with them--like a friend could--and isn't it said that you're often your own best friend? They...made him feel less alone.

Not that Jack was ever really alone.

...Well...all right, he was but...

"..That doesn't sound very agreeable."

Barbossa was, to say the least, utterly confused. He stared at Jack for the longest time. He attempted to ask who he was talking to until he realized he was honestly talking to himself. Or, rather, his shoulders. His first thought was the drink, and it was causing him to have dillusions...which was bollocks because no man alive could hold his liquor like Jack Sparrow. Then he wondered if Jack was having one of those odd inner-monologues he often has, only he was voicing it due to the drink...then, he started to exclude the drink from the equation when Jack started talking about Barbossa in front of him, and answering questions he couldn't hear. Hector didn't know what to say, really. Jack was talking to someone--or someones by the looks of it--that he couldn't see. In their many many years together--and not together--he had never seen this before. Jack was a madman...be he was never crazy. And this business could land him in Bedlam.

It disturbed him. Something had finally pushed Jack Sparrow so far over the edge...Barbossa slid his tankard aside and leaned forward, watching him intently. Jack looked as if he had forgotten Barbossa was there at all, completely engrossed in his one-sided conversation. He contemplated trying to regain his attention. His intoxicated brain couldn't entirely process this, and had no idea how to fix it, or...if he even wanted to. It was then he remembered--just how -long- had Jack Sparrow been in limbo? A good few months covered their trip to the end of the world...and the months Barbossa himself was dead...a prison like that could drive any man mad...

Even Jack Sparrow.

"Well...No--I didn't say that, really...and why would he do that..."

'Same reason he did it in the first place--remember?'

'You DO have the map, you know!'

'Oi, he's right--and...you should have stabbed the heart.'

"--It was a good idea at the time."

'Only place for ye now, mate, is the Locker.'

"It is not, I resent that."

"Oi, he's right, Jacky. You've doomed us all now.'

"I did not."

'Did too.'

"I did not."

'Did so.'

"I did NOT."

'Did so--there en't no pearly gates for the likes of us, Jacky...only one place...'

"I'm not going BACK there, and no one can bloody well make me."

"Jack."

'Ye don't have any control over death, Jack, remember? S'what this whole thing is about!'

"It's not binding!"

"Jack."

"I'm NOT going BACK."

"JACK!!"

Jack Sparrow looked up from the table and blinked above him. Barbossa stood, hands on both arms of his chair, looming with those stormy eyes. Jack was suddenly very aware of the room, the ship, the gentle rocking...and especially his former first mate.

"...Hector?"

"Aye. What in Hell are you talking to?"

There was a long pause. Then Jack stood, pushing Barbossa away from him a little. He reached for his hat and placed it on his head. They where still entirely too close...

"I have to go." Jack then turned to leave.

"What -ever- for, Jack Sparrow?"

"Find the Fountain of Youth, mate. Ever wonder where you'll go when it's all done..?" And with that, Jack Sparrow sauntered towards the door. Oh, yes, sauntered, quite gracefully, for three steps. He then toppled completely over and nearly bashed his head in on one of the many window seats.

Barbossa could only roll his eyes. He steadied himself on the aformentioned window seat, sat down and started pulling the madman up to sit down. Jack was being less than cooperative.

"I have...need to go..."

"If ye wantin' to walk out that door an' kill yourself, Jack Sparrow, please save me some trouble and do it." He yanked him up half way, Jack's chest at his knees. "Assumin' ye can walk at all."

It was then Jack looked at him..with the most hollow eyes he had ever seen. He very nearly let go of him, though it wouldn't have mattered. Jack now had a firm hold of one of his legs.

"...I won't go back, y'know...sooner wander around alone f'ever..that what you do, mate? That what you're used to, so...unhappy." He reflected a moment. "I'm not even sure I hate you as much as I like to."

"Stop drinkin', Jack, an' ye sure en't drinkin' with me anymore."

"Puts a stop to the oldest tradition, then, doesn't it...wouldn't tha' be the last nail in the coffin?" Jack gave him an empty smile. "S'what you want, anyway--"

"Shut up, Jack, an' get off me--"

"Mm--no, y'see...I remember...sometimes. And it makes me smile."

Remember?...Remember. Hector remembered nearly everyday. His captain, his late-night drinking friend...his companion...his warmth. Long voyages, godforsaken seas--it was -warmth-. Jack climbed up a little more to look at him. Barbossa's stern expression, his own mask, stayed firmly in place...but he didn't stop him. Jack moved closer, both hands leaning on the older man's knees. Jack had a lay every other week...but it was the warmth he'd always think of...

"...I'm not goin' back."

"Going back WHERE, Jack..?"

Jack didn't say anything else. He just reached up and touched Barbossa's face. It was older, and had seen more of the world. It was hard, and cross...but still the same...and he found his lips were still the same. His mouth was still the same, his breath was still the same. He'd had better, he'd had worse--he'd had incredible beauty, and he'd had the plainest of plain. He'd taken queens--and kings alike. Princes and well as their princesses. It was always different. And it was always false.

This was the same. They were so different, they had so changed. But this...stood the weathering of time. And all of a sudden...he didn't feel as lonely.

Hector couldn't help himself. Jack was like rum. Strong, smooth, and it -burned-. Nothing else burned like it, so you couldn't help ordering more. It made your head spin, go weak at the knees, and give up every last scruple you have. Hector knocked the hat off Jack's head and started ripping at his clothes. Jack assisted, and yanked Barbossa's coat down his arms. He didn't care how much he was going to regret this. In a way, they were using eachother. It didn't matter. He just wanted to drink and drink until he passed out.

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Creak. Crackle. Creak.

Where was his sash. He couldn't find his sash...he couldn't remember where he lost it--they were at the window seat, and then--the floor--the table--the bed--...the floor again...

Jack Sparrow leaned down as soundlessly as he could and peered under the bed. Aha. His clothes were gathered in his arms, and he was trying to fetch the last bits of it from god-knows-where around the room. Now that he found his sash, all he needed to do was grab his hat and run as fast as he could down the gangplank and into town, and none would be the wiser. He looked back at the bed and found a fully naked pirate Lord slumbering soundly under the covers. His back exposed, along with one of his legs...he couldn't think about it. He had to get -out-.

Jack padded softly over to the window seat and retrieved his hat. Items in hand, Jack stepped over to the door. He tuuuurned the knob, inches from freedom...

"I'm insulted, Jack."

...Bugger.

"I wouldn't thought y'might've tried to kill me at least."

Jack turned with a light half smirk. "Thought the rum would make it even."

"I'm also suprised t'see you runnin' from the Pearl...pity, that..." Barbossa sat up fully, keeping the sheets about his bottom half, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"What? Because you planned on giving her to me? So sorry, I'm partial to stealing, not charity."

"Why no. Just that...you don't have a Pearl of your own..." He gave him a smile. One of those smiles he hated. One of those smiles that he -never- knew what to do about. It was a smile that says, 'i'm plotting something'. Hector nodded to the bureau by the window. "Sit."

"Honestly, I thought I looked all right as it is--"

"Sit your nancy poppin-jay self down, Jack Sparrow." Barbossa rolled his eyes and stood.

"...well, if you insist..." Jack wandered over to the bureau, leaving his clothes in his lap. In the reflection of the mirror, he watched Barbossa slip into his breeches, as well as his coat. He walked over and started digging in one of the drawers. Jack smirked at the reflection of Barbossa. "Looking for something t'diddle me with?" Again, he rolled his eyes.

"And here I thought you had your fill of diddling, Jack..." Finally, he withdrew something. Barbossa displayed a long strand of large, polished black pearls. He carefully--almost reverently--fastened them around Jack's neck. He brushed the dreadlocks away to clasp it, and gently moved them back, his hands touching his shoulders.

Jack eyed the necklace--clearly made for a woman--with nothing less than pure curiosity, wonder, and bewilderment. A thing like this could go for ten gold pieces, maybe more. A man could eat off it's trade for a number of months. And Barbossa had just...He looked to see that Barbossa was half smirking, half leering at him.

"Enjoy."

And he walked away.

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