Commandeering, nautical term, it was what Pirates did, thieves of the high seas.

So Jack thought nothing of waltzing in the Port Royal in the dead of night, only months after the grand adventure with Barbossa. He thought nothing of stealing into the smithy, and standing above the supine, sleeping figure of the young blacksmith. He thought nothing as he stood above Will Turner, watching his chest rise and fall with the deep breathes of sleep. He thought nothing when ordered his two men to gag and bind Will and drag him struggling to the Pearl.

Pirates liked beautiful things. He knew he wanted the boy, to keep and to hold and to hide away for only himself for forever. The thought that someone else touching what he wanted, holding and caring for a treasure that he thought of as his set his blood to boil in jealousy. He set out to fix that, and as he watched the men drag the boy on board and throw him bodily into the captain's cabin, he, Jack, knew what he must do.

The boy fought Jack, fought him hard and long, which was understandable. They always fight first, unwilling to give up the treasure they were defending. Defending honor, fighting for his so called love, denying the nature of his new forced life. The boy fought him every step of the way. But on a ship in the middle of the ocean there is nowhere to run, and there are few places to hide for long. Jack had him cornered.

He worked hard on the boy, who still possessed fire and strength and spirit. He fought back with everything that he had, complex strategies and traps that the boy could not even begin to understand. Jack was a good pirate, and good at stealing and gaining all he desired in life. He knew what he was after, and knew that he would get it.

The boy's resistances fell slowly, one by one. Several months aboard the Pearl and his hopes of rescue dwindled, and then were lost. He did not try as hard, and he eventually stopped struggling, then he ceased to fight Jack at all. Jack knew he had won the battle, and all there was left was to wait for the treasure to come to him.

So he thought nothing of the night Will came to him, looking at the floor, the table, the lamp, anywhere but at Jack himself. Jack tried not to think it a victory when he claimed the boy beneath him, as he pushed and pulled and took and took and took what the blacksmith had finally surrendered to him. 'Take all you can, give nothing back' he remembered as the boy cried and pleaded and finally screamed in release. He thought nothing when the boy returned the next night, and the next, and the next. He rejoiced instead and took again.

But Jack couldn't help thinking, whether he wanted to or not, as he stared at the clouded eyes looking pleadingly up at him, that he'd lost what he was really after in the taking.