4Title: Sweet Victory
Summary: Jack Sparrow and Fitzwilliam have always had a quarrel, but what becomes of it when they take it to the next level? It comes down to the one who's last to fall...Young Jack Sparrow books, Jack and Fitzy friendship angst. One-shot.
A/N: Sorry for any grammatical errors! Sorry, I kinda wrote this straight through, not many revisions. I just really wanted to get this out there! I do not own the song Sweet Victory, by David Glen Eisley. (Although it is my new fave!) I honestly don't think there are enough stories with dear Fitzwilliam in there! Some of the characters in here which you don't recognize belong to Rob Kidd and the Jack Sparrow series, along with Disney Press...(THEY SHOULDN'T! Who else agrees with me!)
So, sorry for the rambling. Maybe not my best work. For some odd reason, I'm too ashamed to read my work over! It's an odd thing, don't ask me...Well, I'll let you read on!
Jack and first-mate, Master Gibbs, sat in the dim light of The Faithful Bride. It was a single round table by the staircase, the only one in the tavern to be consumed by a yellow light, mean to illuminate the hall upstairs. The captain smirked slightly, in memory of his first time on his own, his first crew, the first adventures which nearly convinced him he had gone mad!–and his first enemy. Ah, there was a reason this was known to be his favorite tavern. One of his heavily bejeweled fingers traced the rim of his mug, a first of doing so in a long time. Not drinking his rum! Jack was still oblivious as his aging partner gulped down his drink...like he was in love with it.
Mr. Gibbs finally set down his large glass onto the dark wood in front of him. He waited uncomfortably, for his captain to speak. Each and every time they entered a tavern, he had a new story to tell. He could have sailed with him for three straight years, as he had just did, and somehow Jack would conjure up a new tale out of the back of his mind!
Even Joshamee would start to doubt these tales every once and again, but never wished away the silence his friend shot out of the room. It was rare for the infamous Jack Sparrow to remain this still and dazed, unless something was desperately nagging his mind.
His eyes shifted uncomfortably, "Er, Captain?"
Jack's eyes lifted up to meet those of the awkward old man's. They were much softer and browner. Nobody has probably seen them like that since he was possibly a young lad.
Mr. Gibbs gripped tightly to his tall, broad glass; EIC printed in blue on the side of it. "It seems, sir, that we've been at...Well," the first mate stuttered through his sentence, not wanting to displease his captain, "almost at a loss of adventure, lately." His eyes looked down, ready to flinch back should Jack lash out at him.
Jack stared innocently down into the pool of amber. He had taken one sip, when a young, auburn-haired girl had just served it to him...No more than fifteen. Innocent and unknowing, virgin to the real depths of the sea. The captain sighed inwardly, at a loss of his own self.
"Then what do you propose we do, Master Gibbs?" Jack clearly stated. He glanced up and scrunched his brow together. "That is what they call you, ain't it?"
The old sailor lost his tongue, and stuttered. He obviously wasn't prepared for Jack's un-savvy tone, as he never was, when it just came down to it. "W–Well." He glanced past Jack and to his crew, laughing and drinking about in a jolly old time! Some of the more burly ones having young and old wenches on their lips. Gibbs licked his lips.
"Call it a dry-spell, if you might!" he managed to sputter out. Jack gave him a quizzical look. "What if we take a gander at New Orleans?" Gibbs picked up his rum glass again. "That city always has some gypsy work going on into it! Maybe do some trade in the black-market?" He took a large sip out of his drink, then set it back down. "To be honest, those allies gimme the creeps, a li'l' bit, but I'm sure it's up yer alley!"
Gibbs chuckled in his own amusement; Jack took it none too likely, and stroked his chin, remembering and in worry. "Yes, it gives me the creeps too, sometimes." Keeping his eyes fixed in the distance. He lifted up his and took another sip.
Mr. Gibbs immediately stopped his own laughter and looked down into his own mug. His was just below half gone and Jack's had merely a dent out of it. He hesitantly pushed it aside, to not tempt himself to drink more before his captain. "I hear there's a new port, just bordering the Yucatán!...It's by some more-than questionable tribes,—Incan and Mayan—but they've already set up a small town! What ye think of that?" His fingers were already strumming the table as his thumb twitched, already in need of rum.
Captain Jack Sparrow still stoked his goatee, "Yes, remind me to visit there."
"Oh," Gibbs diverted his eyes again, sullen, he began twirling a button on his brown shirt sleeve, which was originally white. Suddenly, a thin smile crept to his lips and his eyes lit up with delight of an idea! He pressed his palms eagerly on the table then leaned forward, excited.
"What of that invisible ship that's tormenting the Mediterranean?"
Jack's fingers clenched over the handle of his mug, as he rolled his eyes, a snarl forming over his upper lip. The world was giving Jack inexplicable timing today. Fate was constantly going to nag him, and remind him of everything he lost...He had never even mentioned a word to Gibbs about how he earned the name 'Captain.' The sour memories behind it, before The Pearl. His keen navigator, the Mayan, whom he had no idea of what became of. The fervent red-head whose life he'd nearly ended too many times while he sailed with him. Yes, he'd always be sorry for what he did to Jean...He lost hell of a girl...He'd lost most of it with "no one to blame," as his 'father' had usually put it.
He let out a long overdue exasperated sigh, "Master Gibbs," he slammed down his mug with a force, that rum sloshed off of its brim and onto the table and some of Jack Sparrow's hand. "Do you utterly and up-mostly insist on bringing up every little incompetent thing that has been drifting up in my mind these last few weeks?" he burst out!
Now it was Gibbs' turn to question him. "Pardon me, sir?" he asked, almost as soon as Jack had finished yelling.
Jack again rolled his eyes. He let go of the wet drink and shook his hand, spraying around some of the excess rum. He opened up the lapel of his new leather coat and reached into one of its inside pockets. And out he pulled a parchment envelope with a rubber insignia sealing it closed, and tossed it onto the table in front of Gibbs. He leaned back in his chair crossing his arms, obviously bitter. "Read it," he grumbled darkly.
Mr. Gibbs's mouth went slightly ajar at what the captain pulled out. The envelope had already been open, but resealed. Blue ink wrote the East India Trading Company's symbol in the corner. Across the front was a name, sharply written in black; the handwriting so neat there was no mistake in misreading the name, foreboding. Gibbs let it lay on the table, but mouthed out the name.
"Fitzwilliam P. Dalton the third," the sailor mumbled. He looked up at Jack in bewilderment, "The new Lord!" he nearly shouted in his raspy voice. "Ye knew him?"
Jack still lay back gloomily. "I'm still trying to figure out what the 'P' stands for."
Gibbs shook his head, in disbelief, and maybe fear. Nothing ever came out well for Jack when the EIC are after him. And knowing that, he'd get caught up in it. "But wasn't he the brat who turned you and your father in to the gallows?"
The captain's kohl-lined eyes grew heavy in remembrance, "The winner takes all." He shook his head slightly, "It's the thrill of one more kill."
The winner takes all,
It's the thrill of one more kill.
The last one to fall, will never sacrifice their will.
The pompous lord sat in rather a large, red leather chair adorned with golden buttons and trim. The chair was barely more decorated than himself, dressed in a blue frock coat. He sat there serenely smirking to himself while twirling the small toy figure of a pirate in his hands.
"Do you know what the date of today is, Diego?"
The young Spanish boy was in the midst of pouring Dalton's evening wine. His once wild, thick black hair was combed a bit too neatly into a ponytail, held by a red ribbon. Diego stopped pouring the champagne for a moment to glare at his employer. "It would be the twelfth, sir."
Fitzwilliam P. Dalton III turned his chair to face his desk. To his left were stacks up papers and journals of ship entries and files, but in the center in front of him was a large map with small ships, both pirate and navy and EIC, spread across it, belonging to the late Cutler Beckett. He smirked, setting down the pirate on a ship resting on 'The Caribbean.' "A month from today we must be at Shipwreck Cove. We set sail in two weeks."
Diego took a deep breath and bit the corner of his cheek. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what is this grudge you have with the Sparrows?" He set the tall green bottle down on the tray. While looking down, he glimpsed at his most uncomfortable button shoes. His jaw tensed, realizing again he had to wear those while serving Fitzwilliam. Yet, while being forced to serve under him, he had no choice. "Especially with that Jack fellow."
Fitzwilliam grinned at the thought of killing Jack. Sure, it started out as a grudge between their fathers, but Fitzy had some scores to settle himself. "You see Diego, never sacrifice your will." he explained. "It's the last one to fall. So never give yourself in, especially to a pirate."
He pressed his fingers together, giving Diego a smile of satisfactory.
Don't ever look back on the world closing in
Be on the attack with your wings on the wind
Jack sat back upright and grabbed his rum, once again. "Gibbs," he began. "Just don't ever look back! Even if the world is closing in." he took a greedy drink. "Be on the prowl, with your wings in the wind!" he said, airily, waving his hand about in the air! He then brought the beloved alcohol to his lips once again and smiled.
Fitzwilliam delicately picked up the miniature version of his ship, Calliope's side, head of the sloop of the Distressed Ring, and moved it to the center of the Caribbean. "The games will begin."
Oh, the games will begin
And it's sweet, sweet, sweet victory, yeah
Fitzwilliam smirked again. This time, he grabbed a more gnarled-appearing ship and sent it to the southern Caribbean. "And it's ours for the taking.
And it's ours for the taking,
Jack took a long, leisurely swallow from his drink, demolishing about half of it, then smashed it down onto the table. "It's ours for the fight!"
It's ours for the fight!
And it's sweet, sweet, sweet victory, yeah!
And the one who's last to fall...
Diego stood in patience, as best he could while waiting to be dismissed. Fitzwilliam seemed to take his sweet time taking his first sip of champagne.
Once Fitzwilliam did lower his glass of red liquor from his lips, he went back on explaining. "You see, Diego, he insists that he live to see the day that I fall!" he huffed, setting the glass back on the tray. "It's simply a battle I refuse to lose."
Diego still pretended to remain interested in the subject; he was doing his best to compact a yawn. It had grown so late. "So, what does happen to the one to lose? Or...fall?"
Lord Dalton grinned at merely the thought.
Mr. Gibbs was counting the silver he had just spilled out onto the small table. Jack began showing little concern in the letter, so he thought he should take lightly of it himself. "Blast it, I've only got 6 shillings left!" He shoved his black velvet pouch back into the pants of his pocket, leaving the money out.
Jack lifted his finger in the air, while another bottle of rum was barely touching his lips. "You pay for the next three rounds!"
Gibbs sighed in agitation, then grabbed his own new bottle of liquor. "So, what happens if you lose this brawl?"
The winner takes all
... "The winner takes all."
You don't win no silver,
The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow again sighed. "It's not what ye gain."
You only lose the gold.
Fitzwilliam again took another ship, smiling contently, and placed it to the right of what Diego presumed to be The Black Pearl. "Said person, which will be Sparrow, will lose all his dignity, his treasures..." Fitzwilliam's smile faded a moment, while his hand hovered over the board, not sure yet of his next move.
"Let's just say, this has been a long, family feud," he said dazedly; obviously being consumed in thought.
You push with a fever
Jack Sparrow set aside his third rum, and leaned back in his chair again, arms folded. Now waiting for Gibbs to finish his second drink. The old sailor's been too caught up in listening with interest like a child to Jack explaining the pasts of the two families...Or maybe more like attempting to follow what information Jack was willing to give out.
Jack brought his legs up over the table, ankle over ankle. "You must always push with a fever, fer anything ye believe in."
Oh, your time keeps tolling on.
Fitzwilliam's smile quickly returned once he found Venus's Vengeance, another ship from The Distressed Ring, and plucked it from its spot from a bay in Florida. "Oh, the time's been tolling on."
Against all your odds, against all your pain
Your back's on the wall, with no one to blame.
Gibbs leaned forward, wide-eyed, as his captain laid back like this was no problem. "Ye are aware that this is up to you, aye Captain?" he questioned him. "If you lose this, yer family's going to hate you! Knowing the Daltons, Fitzwilliam could bring a whole armada with him!"
Wild hearts won't be tamed,
And it's sweet, sweet, sweet victory
Oh!
Jack shrugged his shoulders. So what if his family hated him even more? He was never so much of a 'family favorite.' Just then, a blond waitress walked behind him with a platter consisting of meals and more rum. Ever so casually, without her even noticing, Jack snatched another bottle off her tray. A Sparrow does what a Sparrow does...
He raised his rum in a gesture of 'cheers.' "Wild hearts won't be tamed!" It's mine for the taking...
It's ours for the taking!
"It's the Sparrow's for the taking!" he 'cheered' again.
Fitzwilliam smugly raised his wine again to his already red lips, always thirsty for the kill. "Young Diego, I believe it is ours for the fight!"
It's ours for the fight!
And it's sweet, sweet, sweet victory!
... "My family's victory."
And the one who's last to fall...
Jack raised his rum in the air, "And as for the one who's last to fall?" he smiled, excitedly.
Oh, the winner takes all.
Lord Fitzy Dalton polished off the rest of his wine, as if he'd already won of what's to come! He greedily raised his glass in front of Diego's face in his mental victory.
"The winner takes all."
Diego strongly resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his master. Instead he took the glass from his hands and set it down. When Diego reached for the champagne bottle, he was amazed to see that it was already a little more than half gone! That was something Lord Dalton hardly ever drank in one sitting. Diego digressed, though. He wasn't the one who would end up with a headache the day after. Obeying his lord, he poured him another glass.
"There you are, sir." he replied.
Fitzwilliam hardly glanced at him as he took his wine glass back. If he really wanted to concentrate, or gloat more, he wouldn't have overdone his usual limit. As an alternative, he had a small goofy smile on his face as he blankly stared ahead, eyes half lidded.
Diego turned his neck in the direction Fitzwilliam was staring at...Diego soon realized that he was only basking in his imaginary glory that he had not yet achieved. Diego sighed heavily and set the pink bottle back on the tray.
He cleared his throat once, hoping to get Fitzwilliam's attention...Then he cleared his throat again...Still nothing.
"Er, sir?" Diego asked. "It is rather late. Later than I usually return home, actually." He turned his head to the black night. With the EIC offices of Port Royal being a large mansion, Fitzwilliam's headquarters was, of course, at the top. Staring out the clear windows, you'd only see a pitch black sky with small white stars. There wasn't even a moon out tonight, so it made them look extra bright.
Fitzwilliam hardly raised his head at Diego's voice, "Hmm?"
"My wife, Carolina, has been ill lately and I really hate for her being alone any longer than she has to," Diego explained, frowning as he did so. "And...Well, I'd really be liking to go home now, sir."
Fitzwilliam hardly lifted his chin in Diego's direction, and hardly made contact with his icy blue eyes. "Oh, yes. Most certainly!" Fitzwilliam set down his wine and picked up a couple of pieces of his navy plan-out. "You are dismissed, Diego."
Diego quickly nodded his head and smiled, in gratitude. He grabbed his tricorn hat, which had been hanging on the back of a woven chair, and made his way out the door with a quick pace. As he gripped the edge of the door frame to swing the corner, Fitzwilliam's voice stopped him.
"Oh, Diego!" he called. Diego brought his head back in. Fitzwilliam was already looking down at some files spread atop of the world and oceans, and back to work. Fitzwilliam, though, had his arm outstretched and gripping onto a thick yellow folder, with many papers inside. "Make sure to give this to Master Magliore."
Diego slowly crept back in, curious and wondering why Fitzwilliam would be giving Mr. Magliore such a thick file at this time of night...Well, Jean hardly ever left the offices, anymore. Diego went as close as he needed to back to Fitzwilliam's desk, and clutched the yellowed papers from his hand.
"I personally think Master Magliore hasn't been busy enough, don't you?" he questioned smirking, like it was some sort of inside joke. Fitzwilliam still clung to the files.
Diego just swallowed and nodded, trying to give off a smile, though, it probably wasn't much of one. "No, sir!" He gently pulled the documents away from his lord, and tucked them under his arm. "Will do."
"Good," Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, still smirking...He always seemed to show a little too much of eerie white teeth. "Now, drop those off at his office and then you may leave." He then turned his attention back to more papers and a plump yellow quill, finally letting Diego leave.
Diego didn't say more. He just slowly nodded, doing what he was told. This was his job. Basically tending to Fitzwilliam's whims. He usually didn't question anything about it...What he'd give to just slightly, ever so for just a second, change the last battle he had as a pirate...
Ooh, the one who's last to fall.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, victory, yeah.
And the one who's last to fall
The winner takes all.
The sky was a slate gray with dark winds roaming around Shipwreck Cove. Fog consumed most of the long dead ships, making it impossible to watch anyone's steps. Jack dashed up and leaped over the wreckage and knotted wood completely bordering the pirate's cove; a sword clutched in his hand as if it were his last will. It was one of those days where the sea was a cool gray, and you couldn't help but think...Somebody is out there dying today.
Jack had cornered himself into almost a dead end, where the wreckage from where he stood suddenly dropped off, a fifty or more so meters into violent wreckage, penetrating all the beach that was once there. Smaller ships piled high in a wall to his right, draping down old ratlines along the edge.
Fitzwilliam speedily climbed up after him in fast strides, the whipped his own sword out and placed to Jack Sparrow's neck. An evil sneer was pressed onto his face and his blue eyes contained nothing. His neat blond ponytail had come undone, and was now blowing in the harsh winds.
"You ready to die, Sparrow?" he queried, viciously. It was too planned out and too evil.
Jack's gaze fell dead on him while he clung onto ripping ropes—one form of escape. "You wish."
A/N: Okay, is you actually had the attention-span to read through my whole song-fic, CONGRATULATIONS! I have yet to read the whole thing through.
So, please tell me if you see any inconsistencies in the spacing. I'm not sure I exactly like the way it's set up. Once again, my first song-fic so it's be really really really really REALLY nice if you reviewed to it! I know, I never write that much when I should, but my junior-high teachers got the idea that we don't get enough homework...WHICH IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE!
Just review and I may write more! Also, please be my critique! I kinda just typed this straight through. Let me know if I need improvements! Sorry if there might be some parts that seem random, or out of order. I was too long so I cut out some stuff. Let me know about that too!
-Gypsy
YOUNG JACK SPARROW RULES!