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Gibbs wrung his hands as he stood in the shadow of the captain's quarters, willing himself to knock.
As first mate, it was his responsibility to intervene if Jack was no longer acting in the best interests of the crew, but after the time and hardships Jack had suffered to reclaim the Black Pearl, Gibbs would take no pleasure in it. While this was a far more pressing issue than, say, Jack's fondness for rum, it was not an unfamiliar one. The captain was merely the latest in a storied history of good men to lose their heads over a lover, and Gibbs feared he would soon lose more than that.
No one ever accused Captain Jack Sparrow of being calm or constant, but he had been in a strange mood for weeks and the entire crew had taken notice. He paced late at night in his cabin above their heads, talking until the early hours. Sometimes he was joined by a second voice, but just as often, he spoke to no one. In the light of day, he muttered to himself, rarely aware of the goings-on around him with the way he kept his head firmly in the clouds.
The captain had also insisted on a trip to Tortuga, ignoring any gentle reminders that there were perfectly suitable ports much closer. Upon arrival, he passed by the taverns and brothels and headed for the respectable part of town, naught but a book tucked beneath his arm. He returned at dawn and refused to discuss where he had disappeared to, and so they set sail once more as if the entire jaunt had never happened.
All of it might have been ignored or brushed aside, written off to Jack's eccentricity, if Gibbs had not finally reached the end of his rope.
They had come across a merchant ship that afternoon purely by chance when one of the men spotted sails on the horizon. They were quickly identified as belonging to a vessel practically unarmed, probably fat with loot. The crew was ready to strike, salivating for it, but Jack, to their surprise, had ordered them not only to disregard the ship, but to change course entirely to avoid it.
It burned to think about even now, with the ship’s reserve growing smaller by the day and questions forming as to whether there would be enough to pay all of the crew. With a renewed sense of purpose, Gibbs balled his hand into a fist and rapped three times on Jack’s door.
“Come in,” called a voice from within.
Gibbs stepped inside to find Jack sitting at his desk, facing the door with the sun at his back. He was poring over various maps spread out across the wooden table, his own form of organized chaos Gibbs had come to accept long ago.
“Ah, Mr. Gibbs!” Jack exclaimed, potting his quill. “Just the man I wanted to see.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” said Gibbs. “Then we’re of the same mind. I wanted to—”
“You’ve been demoted.”
The news hit like a punch. “Demoted?”
“To second mate, effective immediately. Mr. Turner shall serve as first mate henceforth.”
As Jack awaited an answer, Gibbs allowed his eyes to wander around the room while he struggled to think of one. He hardly spent much time in the captain’s cabin, but the difference was impossible to miss. Aside from the mess of Jack’s writing table, the room was spotless. No bottles littered the floor, no clothing was strewn about, and the windows had been washed to allow more sunlight to stream through. Even the bed was freshly made, and Gibbs suddenly recalled young Turner leaving Jack’s cabin earlier that morning.
The boy had insisted he sleep among the crew when he made his dramatic return to the Black Pearl, humble to a fault and refusing any special treatment, but his hammock remained empty more and more often as of late as he spent many more nights above decks than below.
“I know you’re… fond of the boy,” Gibbs began, choosing his words carefully. He had no issue with Jack’s choice of bedpartners, wise to his taste for all sexes for quite some time. It was only Jack's unusual idea of a gift for his paramour that irked him. “But he hasn’t much experience, Cap’n. I’m not sure this is the best way to—”
“There are many privileges of being captain of one’s ship, you know,” Jack interrupted as if Gibbs had never spoken, staring up at his first mate from where he was seated. “You’re aware, of course, that a captain can officiate a wedding at sea?"
“... Well, yes,” said Gibbs, unable to follow Jack’s racing thoughts.
“According to the Code,” Jack pressed, “if a captain wishes to be married aboard their ship, the first mate may serve as officiant in their place."
“I imagine that’s true, but I fail to see what that has to do with—”
“The Code also states that the second mate may serve in the first mate's stead.” With many years of practiced indifference in Jack’s favor, Gibbs could just make out a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “But only if the captain is marrying the first mate.”
Gibbs’ displeasure left him, but his confusion did not. “Married, sir?”
Jack opened a small drawer of his desk. He retrieved one of his emerald rings, twirling it between his finger and thumb. “Not married, precisely, but close enough,” he said, green and gold shining across his face as it reflected the sunlight. “I want you to perform a matelotage for us.”
“Close enough,” Gibbs repeated in relief. “I’d be honored, sir.”
“It’s about time I made an honest man out of the boy,” said Jack, still studying the ring—bashful, almost, though Gibbs knew better than to use the word. “He’s explained in no uncertain terms how he feels about living in sin. Nothing the matter with being a pirate or laying with another man, but lovemaking outside of the marriage bed, that crosses a line.”
Gibbs wrinkled his nose. “Never will I understand him.”
“Nor will I. But I’ve resized me ring for him anyway, God help me,” said Jack, slipping the slightly looser piece of jewelry onto his own finger. Pushing out his chair, he moved to the window to watch the trail of foam in the Pearl’s wake. “Tonight.”
“Yer sure?”
“Certain.”
It was not the first time Jack had faced the prospect of marriage, but it was, to Gibbs’ knowledge, the first yet not to involve a reckless escape attempt on Jack’s part. His solemn mood might have seemed like reluctance to an outsider, but Gibbs understood just what his sincerity meant when it came to the subject of matrimony.
“Later, after the crew has all gone below,” Jack added quietly, his eyes still fixed on the water. “I want this to be special.”
—
“Thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
Will scoffed, but when he met Jack’s eyes in the mirror, he was unable to mask a smile. “Call me a bride again and I’ll push you overboard.”
“I could have very well been referring to meself, William,” said Jack as he entered the room properly, closing the door behind him. “I’ve been said to look rather fetching in a dress.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Will straightened his white cravat in the long, gilded mirror in Jack’s quarters. He had spent a fair portion of his earnings in Tortuga, so concerned about dressing properly for the occasion but inexperienced in the ways of fashion that he ended up looking rather like a dandy. The shiny brass buttons on his coat complemented his white breeches and his boots, freshly polished, the only part of the ensemble he had not recently purchased.
Doggedly focused on looking presentable, Will almost missed Jack’s fixed stare in the looking glass. The pirate lazed against the far wall, as aloof as ever, but the intensity in his eyes made Will’s breath catch in his throat.
“I feel underdressed, love,” Jack murmured.
Will had to force himself to look away from Jack’s face to take in his clothes. The billowy white shirt and scarlet headscarf were familiar sights. His long leather coat and tricorne hat were laid across the bed to complete his suit later, but Will still felt, despite Jack’s claim, that perhaps he was overdressed rather than the other way around.
“I don’t think I would recognize you in formal clothes,” said Will, “and I’d like to know the man I’m…”
“Marrying?”
A flush burned high on Will’s cheeks at the mention of the word. “Marrying.”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of.”
The sound of footsteps echoed across the floorboards as a warning before Jack hooked his chin over Will's shoulder, studying their shared reflection in the mirror.
“Tell me I don’t look ridiculous,” Will whispered.
Jack, as always, was difficult to read. His eyes dragged over Will’s face until he thought he could stand it no longer. Then he smiled. “Ridiculous? Of course not.”
“You’re teasing.”
“I would never.”
Will turned his head for a kiss, but Jack moved away before he could hit his mark, scandalized by the notion.
“Ah-ah, I’m not that sort of man,” said Jack, crossing his arms indignantly and sticking his nose in the air. “You think you can promise to marry me and I’ll give you anything you’d like? I invented that trick.”
Will breathed again at last, grateful for the reminder that it was still Jack Sparrow he was entering into a matelotage with, no matter how esteemed the ceremony. “Is that so?” He asked with a raise of his brow, his attempt at seduction tinged with a shade of self-doubt. “I’m not your first matelot, then?”
“I didn’t know you were the jealous type, William,” Jack replied, far too pleased with himself as he eased past to steal the mirror and reach for a nearby piece of kohl.
Something sank in the pit of Will’s stomach as he stepped back, giving Jack room to work. “Am I?”
Jack, seeming to sense a change in the air, avoided Will’s eyes while he lined his. “Would it bother you? I had quite a life of me own before we met, you know.”
A moment passed before another horrible possibility occurred to Will. “It wasn’t my father, was it?”
Jack had to pause to suppress his laughter, but that did little to ease Will’s mind.
“Jack—”
“No, it wasn’t your father.” Jack turned to Will, cutting him off before his mind could roam further. He dusted any lingering kohl off on his trousers to avoid tarnishing Will's clothes, then raised his hands to Will’s wool-clad chest and began idly fastening the buttons of his coat. “I’ve never had a matelot before you,” he said, “and I don’t intend to have another.”
“Of all the people in the world who would have you?” Will asked, barely audible.
Jack’s gaze found Will’s and held it there, steady and true. “I wouldn’t have anyone else.”
—
A cool Atlantic wind swept across the deck that evening, chilling Will’s face and filling the sails to carry them across dark, tranquil waters. The Pearl’s stern was illuminated by several lanterns hanging from the rigging, casting a glow across the wooden planks and the two men standing patiently opposite each other as they waited for their second mate.
When Gibbs finally emerged from below with ruddy cheeks and a worn Bible gripped tightly in his hand, he said, “Most o’ the men are asleep. Those that ain’t know they’ll be shot on sight by our witness if they make any sort o’ disturbance,” and gestured above.
Will and Jack tipped their heads up. A sailor waved from the crow's nest, cradling a musket in his other hand.
“You needn’t have gone through all this trouble,” Will apologized.
“Nonsense, lad,” said Gibbs. “It’s not every day the captain decides to take a matelot, even rarer that he goes through with it.”
Gibbs walked around to stand with his back to the taffrail, flicking through yellowed pages, but Jack reached out and shook his head before Gibbs could find whatever he was searching for.
“None of that,” he said gently. “This isn’t Westminster, mate.”
Gibbs understood, closing the book. “In that case, do both men present enter into this matelotage freely and wholeheartedly?”
Will watched the idea of claiming that he was being forced into matrimony play across Jack’s features before he ultimately decided against it. “Aye.”
“Aye,” Will agreed, thanking Jack for his good behavior with a look.
Satisfied, Gibbs folded his hands. “Ye may now exchange rings.”
Will, grateful for the darkness that shrouded them, collected his ring from his pocket. A simple gold band embedded with a white pearl; he had crafted it himself with borrowed tools at the shop of a fellow smith in Tortuga.
“Jack,” he said softly, reaching out with an upturned palm.
The mere brush of their fingers sparked like lightning between them—the bronzed, scarred, heavily-jeweled hand of his beloved and his own, newly tanned and flecked with white from years of forging. Will clasped Jack’s wrist and slipped the ring onto his fourth finger. In turn, and without letting go of Will, Jack dug around in the pocket of his coat until he found his emerald ring. He did the honor of placing it on Will’s hand, one that had never worn another ring even in his time as a pirate. If Jack had never taken a matelot in all his years, Will thought it was the least he could do to prove his devotion.
Gibbs cleared his throat and adjusted his stance to stand at attention, reminding Will there was someone else in their midst.
“Captain Sparrow, do you pledge your loyalty to Mi- Beg your pardon, to First Mate Turner?” Gibbs corrected. “To share your loot and your property? To take no other as long as you live?”
Jack, who had yet to break eye contact, gave a single nod. “Aye.”
“And you, First Mate Turner?”
The chill of the night air at times was eerily reminiscent of the bitterly cold ocean. A chorus of voices had once asked Will if he was mad when he tossed his feathered hat, cape, and sword aside before jumping from the fort and plummeting into the sea below. Perhaps he was mad, abandoning the only life he had ever known to chase after a pirate. But more than he remembered the cold, the salt that flooded his nostrils, the rope that stripped his palms raw as it hauled him aboard the Pearl, Will remembered the warmth of Jack’s touch on his shoulders, the sound of his laughter ringing out as he welcomed the newest member of the crew aboard.
Will never once regretted jumping after that.
“Aye,” he said. “I do.”
Gibbs nodded once to Will, then to Jack. “Then as second mate, it’s my honor to pronounce you matelots.”
It was not a wedding, would not be recognized by any church or country, but he and Jack belonged to each other now, just as Jack belonged to the sea. It was not a wedding, but something entirely different shared between the three of them alone.
As such, and as someone who had never witnessed another matelotage in his time aboard the Pearl, Will was unsure of the protocol. It was hardly as if they hadn’t yet kissed—they did so quite regularly, in fact, but never in front of anyone else, least of all Gibbs, and what if he had misunderstood the entire point of the ceremony—
Will’s thoughts were silenced when Jack gathered him in his arms. The hands that had grasped his now sheltered him from the icy winds off the water, brushing calloused fingers across his jaw. The warmth of Jack’s breath tingled against his lips as he leaned in, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Will sighed blissfully into the kiss, hands raising to tangle in Jack’s hair and pull him impossibly closer. He wanted to breathe Jack in, wanted to possess him, to make their union tangible and undeniable in case anyone ever dared to try.
Will opened his eyes at the sound of Gibb’s footsteps as he made his way below decks, leaving them in the dark, peaceful quiet they had only ever found on the water.
A distant rumble of thunder betrayed a storm brewing in the east. The worst of it would pass before it found the Pearl, but the day be would grey and dreary and soak through everything it touched. Will’s heart seized with joy at the thought of it—waking to a cold, overcast morning intertwined with his matelot, this time without having to untangle himself and slink away before dawn. It was blissful, more than he ever could have dreamed of.
“You know,” said Jack, pulling Will from his fantasy, “Gibbs did a magnificent job. I may have to promote him back to first mate for that.”
A smile tugged at Will’s lips, leaving him unable to feign hurt over losing his short-lived position. “I did make you promise to never play favorites with me.”
“Aye, but that’s easier said than done, William,” Jack answered, eyes twinkling in the light of the lanterns. “I’ve had something of a soft spot for you ever since you caught me in the smithy. People are beginning to catch on, I fear.”
Looping his arms around Jack’s waist, Will rested their foreheads together and let his eyes fall closed to the sound of creaking wood, lapping waves, and Jack's faint breathing. “I doubt a matelotage will do much to convince them otherwise,” he murmured.
“Then let’s make the honeymoon worth the trouble, darling.”