Hector was below the deck of ship they had received, feet up on the small desk as he pulled a cork out of the bottle of red wine in his hand which he promptly spat across the room. He had a lot of memories here, a hand through messy dreadlocks, Jack Sparrow whispering in his ear, many nights spent drunk as all hell, the mere thought of it made him wrinkle his nose in absolute disgust as he drank about half the bottle, slamming it on the desk. That made monkey Jack chatter in his ear before scampering off to torment the crew.
That left Hector alone with his thoughts and regrets. His main being the mutiny, he could see the hurt in Jacks eyes when it had been carried out. Then the hatred later when he shot him. He probably deserved that as much as the younger pirate deserved a good slap or two from those ladies at Tortuga.
He chuckled as he took another swig, starting to feel a warmth in his belly but even wine couldn't warm the coldness he still felt deep down. Some part of his soul would forever be gripped by the icy hands of the curse, threatening to take him back to his previous state. He had almost said no to the sea witch when she had said where they were going. Back to the locker.
Things changed of course, when she had told him who they were going after. Captain Jack Sparrow, she had said it with such a knowing smile. Of course she knew the feelings he had and still harbored for the man. Despite all of the pain and the fighting and the hurt that they had caused each other he couldn't help but be drawn back to him.
Jack was the horizon, the one thing he couldn't capture. He shouldn't love the way he wrapped his arms around him, shouldn't love how his tattooed hands always found their way under his coat. He shouldn't love how he said his name late at night while tangled in a scratchy blanket barely big enough for the both of them.
He sighed as he thought of it, of his beard scratching against his neck. They had been getting along so brilliantly until that faithful night at Tortuga. He knew how Jack was, how foolish of him to think that he wouldn't be mad after he caught him with Miss Smith. He shook his head, drinking more wine in an attempt to forget.
He was too old for Jack, as he had told him numerous times, but that didn't seem to deter the younger man who went after him with a passion. Eventually he gave in, he gave in to the smell of sweat and rum and coconuts. Running a hand over his face, he got up to walk above deck. He had no idea how long he had been down there because it was cold when he came back up.
A familiar cold. He watched the Turner boy, the sea witch talk to those two idiots, all of the men were freezing. Even that parrot.
It would all be worth it in the end, when he saw Jack Sparrow on The Pearl. As vibrant as the day he had first met him. Would he take him back? Time could only tell.