the Dalaverse

Please remember: don't take this one too seriously.

And just because it's been awhile, previously in Nothing New Under the Sun...





“What in blazes is this?”

Will glanced up from where he was packing diapers and cloths into a trunk. Jack was gingerly holding a concoction made of straps of thick padding, covered in soft red velvet. “It’s a pudding cap. Young children wear them when they’re learning to walk so they don’t bump their heads when they fall. Or so Elizabeth and I were told by her prospective nurses.”

He went back to his folding, making a face at the soreness kneeling on the floor had brought to his back. Jack was still visible out of the corner of his eye, hefting the cap in both hands. Annoyed at how easily he got distracted – the damned thing wasn’t even shiny – Will snapped, “Care to give me a hand with this, Captain?”

His only answer was a panicked yelp.

Turning, Will saw that Jack had managed to pull the child-sized cap down over his head, where it had apparently gotten stuck. “Jack! You’re going to ruin it!” The seams were stretched and threatening to pop.

“‘S killing me,” Jack moaned, trying to slide his fingertips under the edges. “Squeezin’ all the blood from me brains...”

“What brains?” Will muttered, tugging at the silk bow on the cap’s front and merely succeeding in ripping it off. “All right,” he said, panting with exertion while Jack flailed his arms around. “Calm down, would you, and come here.” He settled down cross-legged, leaning against the bed, and crooked his finger. Sheepishly Jack knelt in front of him. “If – we just –” Jack braced his arms on either side of Will, gripping the mattress, and bowed his head as Will tugged on the thing. He felt it start to slip, abruptly remembered the many decorations adorning Jack’s head, and steadied himself for a fit.

The captain’s scream echoed through the Pearl’s beams, startling Cotton’s parrot so badly that it took flight, flying into the face of Marty and causing him to spill his large pan of gruel all over the deck, the puddle of which Anamaria skidded along and fell into, cursing loudly while bumping Duncan, who thought that she was coming to peck his eyes out at last and leapt into the ocean. Will tossed Jack out of the cabin, finishing packing the trunk himself and leaving all apologies to the captain.



“Will, what the hell’ve you done here?”

Reclining on the bed, Will beamed at him, arms folded over his stomach. “It looks nice, doesn’t it?”

Jack could not force his eyes open to take a second look. This was far, far worse than when he’d had to get rid of all Barbossa’s dark things.

“I picked a neutral color, since we don’t know the baby’s sex as yet,” Will continued. “And yellow is supposed to be soothing. What do you think, Jack?”

Swallowing hard, Jack very slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the pale surfaces all around him. Will had apparently taken it upon himself to paint the entire cabin, from the floors to the beams to the bedframe, the same sickly, watery shade of yellow. With the afternoon light streaming through the open door, it felt very much like being inside the sun. And something else was wrong, too.

“Where’s my...?” He wandered over to the wall, running his fingers over the blank space where his weapons rack should have been.

“Well, it was hardly safe, was it? You can’t have all those swords and pistols around an infant. Don’t worry, they’re safely stored below.”

His eyes rolling in panic, Jack fell to his knees in the far lefthand corner, before the built-in liquor cabinet. “No...oh Jesus, no...” Flinging the doors open, he found it as he’d feared: completely empty.

He raised his horrified face to Will, whose cheeks reddened slightly. Looking down at the floor, Will mumbled, “It’s not responsible, how much you drink. I’m not saying you can’t, mind, only that maybe...a bit of moderation wouldn’t go amiss.”

Jack stuck his head into the cabinet, which was free of paint fumes and still smelt faintly of sweet rum.

“Jack?” He could picture Will biting his lip, hear the hopeful smile in his voice. “Don’t you want our baby to be safe and comfortable?” Jack didn’t reply for a long, long moment, so Will tried again. “I only...oh –”

He cursed as he pulled his head out, bumping it in the process. That last sound had definitely been distress.

“Will?” Jack bent over him, anxiously touching his face. Will was frowning, his brows knit, both hands rubbing his belly.

“It’s nothing,” he said, with a smile that was closer to a grimace. “Just kicking rather mercilessly, is all.”

With a sigh, Jack climbed in next to him, letting him snuggle close. He glared at the ugly cabin from over the top of Will’s head. He’d just have to forbid anyone from setting foot in here, that was all. And board up the windows. And find the things Will had discarded in order to squirrel them away someplace where they wouldn’t be looted by his own men. If piss-yellow walls made Will happy, then piss-yellow walls he would have. Even if the longer Jack stared at them, the more he wanted to gouge his eyes out and leap into the cold blue sea.

“Nesting hen,” he accused the boy softly.

“Strutting cock,” Will rejoined with a chuckle, kissing Jack’s ear.

Jack patted his well-rounded behind. “Guess that’s what got us int’ this whole mess, eh?”