Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Reunion

Jack swallowed hard before knocking lightly on the door separating him from a man he hadn't seen for nearly fifteen years.

"Come in."

The voice was gravelly and low, like distant thunder on a calm day.

Jack slowly opened the door, revealing a room that seemed identical to his last sighting of it.

A dark wooden bookshelf almost covered one wall, a low cushioned bench alongside it.
The fire crackled, casting shadows over the walls, where maps hung.
Flickering candles sat on a mahogany desk and the soft glow of a pipe illuminated a face Jack hadn't seen since he was a boy.

Black dreadlocks, lightly streaked with silver and adorned with more trinkets than ever, were held back by a dark green bandana.
The feathered bicorn that usually sat atop was hanging by the door.

The passing of years had etched lines into once familiar features, but the eyes that met Jack's were unchanged.

Dark, steady and as intense as a starless sky, they were still outlined with kohl and held the same wisdom and authority as they always had.

"Hello, son."

"Dad."

A moments silence and slow pull from the pipe.

"Sit down boy."
A hand, joints swollen with age, waved towards a chair.

Jack sat, his eyes still locked with his father's.

Captain Teague exhaled a stream of smoke and Jack's eyes stung.
It was the same leaf, the smell he remembered in the evenings as a child when his father sat smoking by the fire.

Teague stood, took a bottle from the shelf and filled two glasses, sliding one over to Jack as he resumed his seat, the pipe between his teeth.

"I hear you've been up to no good."

Jack picked up his glass, studying the contents.
"I guess you could say that."

He sipped, grimacing as the firey alcohol met his tongue and tried not to choke as he swallowed.

Straight whiskey.
His father's choice of beverage hadn't changed either.

"Finally embraced your heritage, did you?"
Teague drained his glass and refilled it, awaiting Jack's reply.

Jack clenched his fists briefly.
"They were slaves being shipped, one hundred of them. Men, women, even children. I couldn't...I had to. I did the right thing and then I ended up an outlaw, ended up just..."

He trailed off but the unspoken words hung between them.
"Like you."

Teague released a cloud of smoke.
"So, is this elusive Jack Sparrow any relative of mine?"

Jack dropped his gaze to his hands, picking at a ragnail.
"Long story," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Teague laced his fingers together, studying him over them.
"I bet it is, Jackson Teague."

Jack flinched as though struck.
He raised his head, dark eyes flashing.
"I left him behind at fifteen. That boy is dead."
His voice was low and dangerous.

Teague set his feet onto the desk, tilting his chair back onto its rear legs.
"No. He isn't dead. He's sitting in front of me."

"Jackson Teague died the day you shot his lover's father in front of him!" Jack spat hotly, half-standing, his eyes aflame.

"Sit down," growled Teague.

His son glared at him rebelliously, suddenly seeming like his teenage self again.
Then, breathing hard, he lowered himself slowly back into his chair.