A/N: Short OneShot of Capt. Jack's thoughts while in Davy Jones's locker. Sparrabeth undertones. R&R? (:
Captain Jack Sparrow's eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that his temples were starting to ache from the pressure of it, though the fact that he even noticed this tiny, inconsequential detail came as a slight surprise to him. This was due to the fact that his entire head was throbbing sharply and incessantly, seemingly obliterating his every hopeful thought as soon one occurred to him, and such thoughts were sparse as it was. The cause of this infernal headache was the cruel, unrelenting Sun piercing him with torturous waves of deadly heat without so much as a single protective cloud or friendly gust of wind to impede its menacing glare.
Clamping his eyes as tightly together as he could, sending another painful spasm through his temples, Jack repeated his mantra once more;
"I am out at sea, I am out at sea, I am out at sea." he muttered, visualizing the crashing waves around him until he could almost feel the steady rhythm of a ship being buffeted gently through the waters below him, and feel the refreshing sea spray relieve his sweat-drenched face. He allowed the vision to wash through his mind completely before opening his eyes with a sudden jerk, as if expecting the illusion to have stayed with him. Instead, he was blinded by the sudden reappearance of the impossibly large Sun shining directly over his gaze. As he fought to rid himself of the black spots that were clouding his vision, Jack allowed himself a short laugh of irony. It was another sort of 'black spot' entirely that had gotten him into this ridiculous mess.
As soon as his eyesight was no longer impaired, Jack found himself wishing he'd kept his eyes closed after all. He felt what may have been terror, (although he would never admit to feeling such a pointless emotion), tighten around his throat and trapping his exhausted breathing as he gazed out at the endless expanse of sand stretching ahead of him for as far as he could see. He was the only living thing in this desolate universe.
There were two things that made Jack absolutely certain of where he was;
One: There was no sea and;
Two: The Rum was gone.
There was no doubt about it. He was in Hell.
He thought about the second point with another stab of bitter irony. He could always count on Elizabeth to ensure that the Rum was gone. She seemed to have a certain talent for rendering him sober. She was certainly far more cunning than the whelp gave her credit for. For all of his furious laments against Piracy, William had somehow managed to end up betrothed to a woman apparently born for the trade. For some reason, Jack found that he was smiling to himself. Stupid. He should be cursing her for every stab of pain that shot through his head, rather than feeling this bizarre surge of pride for her whenever her name entered his head, which, now he thought about it, happened increasingly often. Why was that, he wondered?
Suddenly, he jerked his head around, and was confronted with the sight of himself a short distance away, stabbing a peanut with a fork and raising it to his lips.
'Ah good' he thought to himself, glad of the distraction, 'the delusions are back.'