Summary: Will thinks about how he ended up, but he's learned not to dwell. SPOILERS!

Author's Note: Stranger than my other story 'Cherries.' As was the case with that one, though, I still am fond of it. Forgive my attempts at poetry – this is one of my better ones, but still: beware.

Disclaimer: If I owned 'Pirates,' I would not have let James Norrington die. Or have Will become the captain of the Flying Dutchman. Or let Barbossa go through three movies without getting just one small kiss (not necessarily from Elizabeth. Ew.)

Fruits of His Labor

Captain Will Turner sighed, feeling bitter this night. Like many times before, his mind drifted to his death. There were some very beautiful elements to it, such as his best friend and love of his life Elizabeth holding him up, while the closest thing to another best friend, Jack Sparrow, kneeled close by, letting go of Will's hand after he made him stab the heart, as they watched Davy Jones die….

At this moment, Will made a realization that made him laugh, simply at the irony (what was with all that irony following Turners around?). In essence, he had caused his own death, and not simply by choosing to be entangled with Jack Sparrow. In fact, it was the opposite: his death was caused by something he did lawfully for a lawful reason.

He made a sword. That sword, the fruits of his labor, was the sword Jones used to stab him with.

He only laughed briefly. He didn't want to dwell on it too much, or else he would turn bitter. If he turned bitter, there was a strong chance he would end up like the first captain of the Dutchman.

Better let such thoughts lie. It was ironic, granted, but it was also poetic – and he could deal with poetic.

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You can only do so much, you are bound by a vow

Nothing to do except to think and hope, now

You are forced to leave until the day comes when you can stay

Still, it's hard when that light is so far away,

Keeping your heart true and remembering to care

Death is a humbling thing, as you are all too aware.

You think about it but try not to dwell,

Otherwise there won't be a new story to tell.

That wouldn't be right, not right at all

It would be the worst way to finally fall.