Another morning dawned, just as perfect as the last. The sun was a fiery red globe rising majestically above the horizon, bringing the first sluggish activity to the still dormant town. Normality, thy name is Port Royal. Synonymous with the navy, the gentry, and having a no holds barred approach to pirates. Apart from that one time which nobody ever mentioned. Never. Ever. Forever and ever, amen. So perhaps Will should have known that the more normal the day, the more extraordinary the events were that usually befell him. For the second time in his relatively short existence a pirate was on a collision course with William Turner, intent on propelling him headfirst into whatever feather brained scheme seemed fit at the time. But for now he was blissfully unaware of the approaching storm.
Dawn crept into Port Royal, squeezing out the darkness as if it were a viscous thing, an entity that could be bent into shape, forced to conform. Under eaves and doorways the shadows lingered, holding tight to what nooks and niches they could, making one last stand against the marauding light. At the Master Blacksmiths in the town centre the darkness pooled in lakes, flowed in rivers around the doorstep, congealing and seeping under the door to hide within. Above in the front bedroom Will Turner slept, curtains closed tight to the onrush of dawn. His nose crinkled and his brow furrowed, as if his dreams seemed distasteful to him. Rolling over onto his back he sighed deeply. His body clock was screaming at him to wake up, he felt the pull of the dawn deep in his bones, the call to work dragging him unceremoniously from his bed. Giving in he cracked one eye open and let his senses become attuned to the room around him. Below him the forge waited, the lumps of iron and steel crying out to be molded, shaped, coaxed into deadly weapons. To think of all the years that he had spent passing his work off as his adopted father's, and now here he was, sleeping above his own shop. Gaining recognition not just from this port, but ports in places that he'd never even heard of. Shouldn't that make him want to jump out of bed and get to work? Usually it did. Usually it was enough.
Usually.
Although apparently not on this day. Will opened both eyes and stared hard at the ceiling, as if willing something, anything, to happen. He'd lost count of the days that had passed in a blur, the endless days filled with sword making, and then practicing. When had his life reverted back to this? He shook his head, pulling himself up to a sitting position. He had become staid. Stagnant in a life, that if he were truthful, no longer fitted. His eyes gazed around his room; at the clothes scattered on the chair and floor, the swords placed reverentially on the table, his hat atop them. Was this all he had become? Just another blacksmith in another port? On days like this, when his thoughts bordered on maudlin, he remembered. Oh, how he remembered. All the tastes, all the smells, all the sights… How much had happened to him in such a short space of time, so much life, so much experience that he had been bursting at the seams with it, eager for more. He had wanted it all and yet he had chosen to return, chosen to fit back inside a skin that in reality was two sizes too small for him now. Downstairs there were orders to be completed. Commodore Norrington had ordered yet another sword, for yet another ceremony later that week. Which ceremony that was he didn't know, nor could he bring himself to even pretend to care. Nowadays Will kept his dealing with the Commodore to an absolute minimum. Old grievances took a long time to die and in the case of this one, time was only distilling the animosity into something far purer.
Giving in slightly Will swung his legs out of bed and gingerly placed his feet on the cold floor. That was another thing he seemed to be noticing more and more with each passing day; the lack of any personal effects in his life. Or indeed anything that could make his room appear more like a home and less like a temporary arrangement. He had lived there more than a year and yet he had still not bothered to buy proper bedding, or even a thin rug for the floor. It wasn't even as though he couldn't afford it. With the amount of commissions piling up downstairs he could easily live in far more comfort than he did, but somehow it felt better this way. Everything in his life was replaceable, well, apart from his swords. Thinking of them broke the last of his reserve and he made his way across the room, lingering at the makeshift mirror propped above the fireplace as if drawn to it.
The man that stared back at him was the same one that Will had been seeing everyday of his life, but somehow, sometimes, this mirror showed far more than it ought to, looking far deeper into himself, stripping away all his pretences and leaving him looking at the man that he had become; the man trying desperately to feel alive in a town that wanted him dead and forgotten. He was no longer Will to the townspeople as if by silent decree they had agreed to change everything about the witnesses to the events, not just rebuilding Port Royal in their own design, but including him into the plans as well. Now he was Master William Turner to all, and he had never been anything other than a blacksmith. An unfortunate one, but just an ordinary man nonetheless. He shook his head and smiled to himself, his fingertips reaching out to brush against the large feather adorning his hat. Such a fine hat. It had even gained… well, a certain level of approval that meant far more to him than it ought to. Moving it to one side Will picked up the first sword on the table, allowing himself to be lost in the feel of the blade in his hand, the weight and perfect balance he had bestowed upon it. Labours of love; each and every sword he produced carried a little part of himself within them, but these, these carried far more than that. They had not left his side since his life had finally snapped back on course.
Not since Captain Jack Sparrow had bowed out of Port Royal and his life so uniquely.
There, he had finally thought the name again. After many long months hardly daring to let himself think of the word 'pirate', Will broke his own silence by thinking of the one man that epitomised the very word and all it stood for. And all it had come to mean meant to him.
Heavy knocking sounded from below, a holler from the street calling him to work, calling him back to reality. But perhaps… Will turned back to the mirror, a glint in his eye that he hadn't ever seen before, a mischievous grin turning the corners of his mouth. He felt wild, irresponsible. He was master of his own domain, and today he was going to be Will for a change. Scrambling into his clothes he grabbed his swords, placed his hat upon his head, and without a second glance left the room. From below the shouting became more heated, not just one voice but two, calling for William, calling for Mr. Turner. A man who was no longer in residence.
Through his small maze of connecting rooms Will ran, ducking away from windows that were curtain-less, deciding on the best route to take… waiting for the opportune moment. Laughter bubbled up in his throat and he skidded to a halt, peering out of the window that overlooked his rear courtyard. Although he still had to fathom how anyone could call that small scrap of land a courtyard. But today, it was perfect. Throwing open the window Will swung himself out on to the small ledge, shimmying along until he could grab hold of the wall and lower himself to the ground. Taking a deep breath he took a running jump at the opposite wall and hit the top with a bone-jarring crunch. Hauling himself up and over he hit the floor running. From behind him he could barely make out the frustrated cries as his customers finally realised he wasn't going to answer their impatient knocks. Instead he ran away from all of them taking the quickest route he knew, climbing up step after step until finally he could climb no more, leaving just the blue expanse of heaven and sea to encompass him. Throwing his head back he breathed in the salty air deeply, letting it invade every part of him. It felt exhilarating, freeing, it felt as if it filled some void that he had carried with him for God knew how long.
Looking back out to sea he allowed himself to remember the last time he had stood there, clutching Elizabeth to him as if she were his lifeline. Somehow, perversely, he felt she had been. The only thing to stop himself following Jack: taking a suicidal dive from the battlements where it had all started. He'd come full circle without even seeing it happen. Even this day was just like that one; clear and bright, a perfect Port Royal morning, making Will blink in the blinding light. His breath caught as he stared across the bay and he leaned further out, across the stone battlement, trying to catch a glimpse of the ship that he could've sworn just headed around the jutting cliffs of the cove. He hadn't seen the ship in nigh on two years, but he was sure he would recognise it in an instant, almost as a visceral response. But, with the sunlight, with his fanciful dreaming of late, with the sheer improbability of it… Will sighed and laid his head upon his arms. Wishful thinking, that was all. Even a man as certifiably insane as Jack would never dare to weigh anchor in Port Royal again. And certainly not risking his neck to come back for Will Turner.
Or would he? Will cursed his hopefulness. That was the reason why he had to go back to his forge. Had to lock himself away from the sea and any memory of what it felt like to fly across its glassy surface. No matter how his blood burned at the idea of it, no matter how his spirit screamed for the release of it; there was no way he could just up and leave. He was a man with nothing to hold him back, and yet he had nowhere he wanted to go. Not on his own at least. Straightening he smiled at the frustrating mess his life had become and how easily it had happened. Before it was simple. This was right, that was wrong… and Jack Sparrow was somewhere in between, a law unto himself. An annoying, inscrutable man, and perhaps one best left in the past where he belonged. His smile faded. Yes, perhaps in the past would be the best place to leave him. To finally try and move on from everything that had happened. Once and for all.
"Penny for 'em, Master Turner." A coldness poured into Will, clawing its way up his spine, tangling his insides and turning them to jelly. An extension of his daydreams. Surely that had to be it. An auditory hallucination. Even so his feet had a will of their own, and suddenly, without preparation he found himself facing the spectre of a man long since vanished from his life.
"Who…?" The question died on his lips as he already knew the answer, but as if humouring him, the voice replied.
"Jack Sparrow, Pirate Captain extraordinaire at your service, young Will." His eyes twinkling Jack bowed low, sweeping the floor with his hat before righting himself and placing the beloved hat back upon his head. For a moment Will blinked owlishly at the man before him, his brain trying to catch up with what his eyes were telling him. Jack? Jack Sparrow? Really back? How could that be, how could a man so above everything that Will had ever experienced before, just suddenly be back in his life without some kind of warning? Will looked heavenward. No looming clouds, no solar eclipse blotting out the light. He looked at the man before him again, almost expecting him to vanish; to dissipate into the morning air like the phantom he had grown to be in the minds of those left behind in Port Royal. He was still there. Still wholly, completely, unapologetically Jack Sparrow. Will moved away, choosing instead to gaze out upon the fathomless blue depths of the sea before him. All the memories whispered across the surface, rushing to greet him just as The Black Pearl had rushed to Elizabeth and the gold, screaming for release from a curse that they had fully deserved.
But what of Will's curse? Had he really bought this on himself?
He felt the air change and knew without turning that Jack had tipped his head quizzically, unsure of just what was the matter with William Turner. Did he himself know? In part he supposed a truthful answer would be yes, of course he knew. How could he pretend otherwise? If he did, it would mean that he was denying the impact that his adventure with the pirate had had on him; how it had fundamentally changed him all those months ago. It seemed so far away now, another lifetime; the blacksmith, the besotted fool, running off to free Jack from his condemned cell. As he stared at the blue expanse before him he felt a stirring deep down inside of him. The inescapable, indescribable feeling he always associated with Jack, with the Interceptor: with freedom. With being a pirate.
"You were right. " The words were spoken before Will realised he had planned on admitting that much so soon after seeing Jack again. How strange that it was only in this dishonest man's presence that Will was most honest with himself.
"And that would be about what, William?" Jack came into Will's peripheral vision, tinkling beads and theatrical hand gestures emphasising everything he said.
"You're risking a lot by being here. Commodore Norrington would love nothing more than to see you swing. I'm sure he would be very careful the second time around too. No… last minute reprieves." Changing the subject was meant to help him, lead him out of the past and into the present. The present that he had forged for himself on the dying embers of memories best forgotten. But then Jack chuckled, tipped his head back and smirked, remembering all that they had done together perhaps. And Will knew that for however long Jack was to be in Port Royal, he had no hope of pretending. No hope of convincing himself and those around him that he was just an orphan rescued one fateful day, instead of Bootstrap's only son. The embers, smothered for so long, awoke in the fire sparked in Jack's eyes. Adrenaline started buzzing in his veins again, that last fight replaying in his mind. Was it just coincidence that they could work together so perfectly, each anticipating the other's move so quickly? The look on Norrington's face had said it all; he was nothing more than a pirate in his eyes. Nothing more, nothing less. And in that second Will couldn't have cared less. He had never felt more alive, facing down Norrington, staring death in the eye, feeling Jack's presence at his back: as if it had always been like that.
"Ah, yes, but I wasn't planning on letting our old friend the Commodore know I was back in town, mate. Speaking of old acquaintances, how is the lovely Miss Swann these days?" He leered in Will's direction, "Or is it Mrs Turner?" So this was the first part. The first stage of his unravelling, peeling away the layers he'd built up to protect himself; to protect those he'd once loved unconditionally.
He turned to look at Jack then and really looked, staring intently, trying to see through him to whatever truth lurked within. He hadn't changed and that seemed right to Will, the clothes were the same style, although he hoped they were newer than the lot Jack had left in. His hair was still braided and decorated with the gold that defined him as a pirate, his bandanna firmly in place. And the eyes. Still kohl rimmed and just as deep as before. Dare he look too long into those depths? Almost as unfathomable as the ocean, seeing far too much of what should never be seen, yet alone spoken of. But perhaps Will wanted him to see; perhaps it was just another change in a life that could be marked down the middle, a line dissecting his past and his future. That of before Captain Jack Sparrow and that of after. A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth: yes, a life divided and forever altered… but he was never sure if it was for good or ill.
"Miss Swann still. Although it was to be Mrs Turner for a short while." Jack winced, drawing his hands away from Will as if scalded; making Will's smile grow at the familiar and quirky gesture. "She has gone back to England, apparently Governor Swann felt it was more fitting for her to learn the ways of being a proper English lady before coming back to marry a Blacksmith. Elizabeth decided it was best to postpone our plans, but I told her that it was in her interest to call off our engagement. That way she wouldn't disgrace her father by marrying a pirate." Ironically Will found it was far easier to say it aloud, confessing the facts to someone else, than to keep them locked inside his head. Admittedly that was most probably due to the fact that the other person just happened to be Jack. He doubted he would have been able to say the same words to Elizabeth, let alone Norrington.
For his part Jack acted beautifully; frowning in just the right place and at the end widening his eyes until Will was sure they were about to pop out of his head. His hands became even more animated, fluttering from his scabbard to his lapels, grasping as if trying to find roost. Finally one made it up to his hat and he took it off, dropping it on the floor beside his feet. Swiftly he followed it down, falling unceremoniously to sit on the stone step beneath him. With greater care Will followed, wondering why Jack had taken his omission so strongly. After all it was he himself that had told Will of his heritage and had kept reminding him that he had pirate blood inside him, flowing through his veins.
"That was what I started to say earlier, Jack. You were right; I am a pirate. The thing I hated most in the world ends up to be the thing I was born to be. Elizabeth's been gone for ten months. She writes to me sometimes, mostly to tell me what London society's like, helping to confirm that I'll never feel comfortable with her life now. When you fell off of these walls you left behind more than you realised." The sun was directly overhead now, harsh and sterile, it's powerful rays cleansing everything it touched, bleaching the colour from their surroundings; making everything appear to be made from shadow and light. Feeling a trickle of sweat meander a pathway down his spine Will shrugged off his cloak, loosening his shirt and waistcoat absentmindedly as he removed his hat. He felt raw, as if the sun was burning his skin off, leaving him red and bleeding, waiting to be reborn as he saw fit. Or perhaps as Jack saw fit.
"That was a swan dive deliberately made to look like an accident so as to throw the dear Commodore off the scent." Nodding decisively Jack's face tensed in concentration. Half the time Will suspected that it was just Jack's way of convincing himself of the lies he told other people, but like Jack had told Barbossa: you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest, honestly. "So, if you're all squared with being ol' Bootstrap's boy, why are you still waiting for the noose in respectable Port Royal? I hear Tortuga's lovely at this time of year, just got some new lasses in, all ready to comfort a fresh young scallywag like yourself." He leaned away, eyeing Will judgementally. "Or were ye really a eunuch all along?" Pursing his lips he stared speculatively at Will's breeches, his fingers curling around ghostly shapes in the air that looked vaguely obscene to Will. "Even if ye were, I'm sure there's someone in Tortuga as can educate you in the ways of eunuch…ism… eunuch-ability…eunuch-dom! And if not…" his eyes rose to Will's again, blue fire dancing in the dark depths, "well, darling Liz never seemed too bothered now, did she?" Watching Jack, Will couldn't help but allow himself to forget everything that had been worrying him. Had it really been nearly a year and a half since he had come into contact with the strange anomaly that was Captain Sparrow? Just twenty months ago that his life had been simple, uncomplicated and although thoroughly boring and predictable, it was safe. He knew his place back then, as a Blacksmith who would never be recognised. As the man who would never win fair Elizabeth's love. As a castaway marooned without a history, and little future to look forward to.
And now?
Now he had so much history he felt the ghosts breathing on his neck at night, waking him when the moon was high in the sky, half expecting his father to be standing at the end of his bed, the Aztec medallion still hanging around his neck, a skeletal hand grasping at the sheets. Now, finally, he knew where he belonged. But still he had tried to deny it. After all he was a product of Port Royal, with all that entailed. Silencing the distasteful to promote the respectable. He was William Turner, a Master Blacksmith: the maker of some of the finest swords in the Caribbean. And the unfortunate events of that long ago hot summer were relegated to the stories of the drunks that sometimes littered the streets at night; the ramblings of men who should know better, men who were swiftly re-educated by Commodore Norrington and his men. Elizabeth was sent away to become a lady and so the only one left to speak out about it had no one left who wanted to hear. A neat, tidy way to kill him, bit by bit; slowly destroying him from the inside out. But he still had his memories, the voices that whispered to him at the dead of night, telling him of dreams he dare not dream, of shores he would never see, of adventure and freedom that made his soul weep and scream for release. He had tasted the salt in the air, the foam and spit of the sea, had been shown life as he had never seen it before, and then he had returned to be smothered by the confines of polite society.
Perhaps if Elizabeth had stayed events would have faded slowly over time to be replaced by something sweeter, a life that could be just as fulfilling for him; a life that he could have lived in without feeling as though he was lying to himself every day. But Elizabeth was the Governor's daughter, and he was the son of a pirate. When he had finally admitted that to himself, it was clear that one life had to end.
"I might finally recognise my heritage, Jack, but I still don't see the appeal of loose women." Jack's eyes snapped back up to his and a quicksilver smile flashed over his face.
"Now, Will, there you go with all those fancy long words again. Your run of the mill pirate won't understand what you're saying. It's only due to the fact that Captain Jack Sparrow is a bit more refined in the ways of this world that he knows what you're talking about. Savvy?" Just as Will opened his mouth to answer a shout came up from the harbour. Jumping to his feet Jack skulked over to the wall and peered over, only to quickly duck back and scrabble across the ground to Will. "Best be off, seems my welcoming party's just realised they're a bit late." With that Jack snatched up his hat and started off down the steps in a crab like scuttle, glancing over his shoulder at Will's bemused and resigned face. "It would appear that the Commodore was planning a little party to welcome me, and I don't want to disappoint. " A manic smile broke out over Jack's face and Will felt his stomach clench. "After all, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." And with that he was gone, leaving Will to hurriedly gather his belongings and run down the steps after the rapidly disappearing pirate.