And ne'er say we die…
"William, the sun."
Will stared out past the mast, the deck's railing his support. The sun of the Land of the Dead was making its last moments known, it's tired, pale orange light failing to warm his skin. Will's exhausted eyes slowly drug back to Bootstrap Bill, gazing at his father with as little life as the sun that now died.
"I know, father, I know," he answered quietly, gathering a rope within his hands and securing it carelessly about his hips, then tying it about the railing. "There's plenty of time. There always is…" His words trailed off, their meaning laced with a tone of wanting and longing.
Bootstrap watched his sun move about securing himself the Flying Dutchman, his brow cinched tight. William's movements were slow in their usual, quick, daily tasks. His son's hands were lean and strong, however gentle, and skilled in their movement aboard a ship. But this past year, their skill had become less and less smooth, and William had become dull and dispassionate. Bootstrap had watched his son wear beneath the constant voyage between the worlds, his eyes become less and less bright. Young William's time away from Elizabeth, tending to the dead, providing passage for all those lost at see, had drained the handsome, brave man of all his joy in life.
Bill had hoped that the approaching ten year marker would liven his son's spirits, but it had done little more than make William's pain more stabbing. His son would glance at the notches taken from the bow's wooden rail, and turn away, his face haggard with agony.
"William," Bootstrap said in his gruff voice, setting the wheel in place before taking the distance between himself and his son in his large stride. "You realize that when this sun sets, and the next arises, you can see Elizabeth?"
"Aye," William answered numbly.
"What is it that has been bothering you, William?" Bootstrap asked, leaning against the railing beside Will.
"It is my burden to bear," William answered, his tone laced with sarcasm. Bootstrap sighed, gazing out at the water ahead, reflecting the sun that divided the living world and the next.
"William, I was not there for you as a child. When I chased off to go piratin', I gave up my chance to be your father. But now I have that chance…if you'll give it to me."
"You have paid your debt for ten years now, father," William answered. "You are free to go when you wish."
"The better the next time we make port," Bootstrap answered with a half grin. When William failed to acknowledge the remembered moment, Bootstrap hung his head and clasped his hands. "The way I see it, ten years service on a ship is not nearly enough payment for the debt I owe you. Let me pay that debt."
"It's been ten years since I've seen her, and I can hardly remember her face," William whispered brokenly. "Ten years before the mast, and I have though of nothing but her ever minute of each god forsaken day." Bootstrap gazed at his son with puzzlement.
"Aye, William," he answered. "But within the hour you may see her again. What pain be there in that?"
"She will be well into her midlife, and I have not aged a day since I last say her… nor shall I ever. I will loose her one day, father. And I will have seen her no more than a handful of times when that day comes."
"Son, she may have changed, but her love for you will have remained, and will stay as young as you. There is little more one could ask for," Bootstrap said quietly, his words hesitating. "I know what it is like to be unable to die. And now I know what it is like to know that one day my life will come full circle one dreaded day. I have been on both sides of life and death, and I can tell you only this: Your mother's love, even after her death, was all that kept me sane."
William turned his dead gaze to his father, old wounds panging within him. His father had once abandoned Will's mother to live a dishonorable life, and never once looked back. Yet here he claimed her love was all that there was to him. Still, the man was attempting to make his amends and he could forgive him that.
"And what do I say to her when I leave her once more to grow old and tired for another ten year's worth?" Will asked in a weary voice.
"You tell her how much you love her, Will," Bootstrap answered. "There is little more one can do." Will's eyes closed, and a single, silent tear trickled down his cheek. Bootstrap gazed at the sparkling, lone trail and pushed his old body away from the rail, turning back to secure himself to the ship's wheel. There was no more he could say to his son. He had hoped, this once, to be of help to William, but he had failed. Perhaps he would never be able to be the father that William needed.
"Yes there is," Will's voice said quietly behind him. Bootstrap turned slowly to look at his son, whose eyes were cast up at the quickly sinking sun, their orbs suddenly bright and fierce.
"William…" Bootstrap began, a coal of dreading falling into his stomach.
"Father, tie yourself to the wheel, quickly!" William ordered, tossing a coiling of rope at Bootstrap, who caught it out of habit. "I'll not loose you to Davey Jones' Locker!"
Fastening himself deftly, Bootstrap turned his sight back to his son, who was shouting reminders to the Flying Dutchman's crew. The sudden flair in his son's being worried him. While not rash, William had a tendency to follow his foolishly brave heart rather than his head.
"What are you planning, son?" he murmured roughly to himself as the ship over turned and a great green flash blinded him.