A/N: So it's been almost five years since I last posted anything. I'm not even sure if anyone uses this site any more, especially for PotC stuff. But I was cleaning out my computer and came across this half-finished story, and it was just begging me to finish it. So I took it out, cleaned it up, and gave it a proper ending. I like it, personally - I think it's a conversation that needed to happen. So... yes. If you do happen to read this, reviews would be greatly appreciated. I don't do much in the way of fanfic any more, but I am still a writer, and feedback is a writer's best friend. Thanks!

(Also, if you have as much of a soft spot for Bootstrap as I do, feel free to check out some of my earlier oneshots. They have cuteness and angst and father/son moments and stuff.)

Bootstrap stood at the door of the cottage, assessing it to make sure he had the right one. It was small but sturdy, with a low stone wall around it and a few flowers growing along the short path. It matched the description given to him by a nearby neighbor, but he worried that he might still discover that he'd come all this way for nothing.

At length, he convinced himself that he was being foolish and knocked twice on the door.

"Who is it?" a young woman called from inside.

"I'm looking for an Elizabeth Turner."

The door eased open a few inches. The woman's expression was mildly suspicious as she looked out, but it turned to a surprised smile the moment her eyes reached his face.

"Bootstrap!" she exclaimed, opening the door fully. "I had wondered if you might visit, but I didn't dare to hope. Please, come in."

He assessed the kitchen as he stepped inside. It was small but not uncomfortably so, with everything in reasonably good order. She seemed to be doing well enough for herself.

Elizabeth shut the door and turned to face him. "How is he?"

"He's fine. Misses you something fierce, of course, but this job suits him. I'd have come much sooner, but he released any men who didn't wish to continue serving on the Dutchman. It was a noble thing to do – and the right thing – but it left us shorthanded for a good while. We could only barely spare a crewman even now."

"I would imagine you've had your work cut out for you."

"Aye. Will's been handling it well, but even so, I imagine the next nine years will hardly make a dent in the mess left behind by Jones."

For a brief moment, Elizabeth turned and looked out the window toward the sea, but then she seemed to realize that they were still standing in the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry – please, have a seat." She gestured toward the table that sat against one wall. "Do you drink tea? I'd offer something stronger, but I'm afraid I don't have anything on hand at the moment."

"Tea's fine," he said, lowering himself into one of the chairs. He watched as she filled a kettle with water, then cleared his throat. "To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd recognize me, what with my being coherent and devoid of sea life."

She glanced over her shoulder at him before hanging the kettle above the fire. "So you remember when we met?"

"Aye." This wasn't a comfortable subject for him to discuss, but he'd brought it up on purpose. There were things that needed to be said. "I wasn't in my right mind, clearly, and didn't know what was happening at the time, but I remember. It's just… distorted. Like I'm watching through a piece of warped glass."

"It's in the past," Elizabeth said, retrieving two cups from the cabinet. "Whatever happened then, it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me." He paused, searching for the right words. "Will would have sent me regardless, seeing as I'm family, but I asked to come. What happened that night was inexcusable."

"Bootstrap-"

"I could have fought Jones for longer. I'd done it for years, only when I thought I'd lost Will to the Kraken…" Nothing else had seemed to matter any more. It had been easier to give in, to welcome the numbness. Clearing his throat, he pressed on. "But that's not what's important. The thing is, I wanted to ask your forgiveness for my actions. I've already obtained his."

She spun around to face him. "You've seen James?"

"Aye, a few months back."

"Is he-?"

"He's at peace."

At that moment, the kettle began whistling, and Elizabeth quickly turned to tend to it, but not before Bootstrap saw the tears in her eyes. By the time she carried the tray over to the table, she'd regained her composure.

"You have it, of course," she said as she set the tray down. "My forgiveness. As you said, you weren't in your right mind."

"Thank you."

Elizabeth offered him a thin smile and placed one of the teacups before him. "Do you take your tea with sugar?"

To be perfectly honest, Bootstrap had never cared much for tea, though Kate had had an inexplicable fondness for it. He was fairly certain the last time he'd sat and had a cup like a civilized person was whenever she had last persuaded him to join her. "Without is fine."

She poured a cup for each of them, then sat down across the table. "This tea is part of the Empress's latest spoils. I'm proud to say that it came straight from the holds of an East India Trading Company ship."

"Are they still maintaining a presence?"

"Somewhat. The absence of Beckett has made them substantially less of a threat, but the battle cost them relatively little in the way of ships or men. It's been nothing that we can't handle, though."

Bootstrap took a sip of tea to be polite and found that it wasn't as revolting as he recalled. The taste was foreign but familiar at the same time, something from a life long forgotten.

"You're still responsible for the Empress, then, I take it," he said after a moment. "Will and I had thought that was where I would find you, but no such luck."

"I sailed for about a month after the battle; after that I had Tai Huang take over for me. I haven't been in much of a condition to sail lately, but they're loyal and still answer to me. We've been living comfortably enough off the income."

"We?"

Before she could reply, a sound came from the other room that Bootstrap hadn't heard in over twenty years: the piercing cry of an infant.

"Excuse me for a moment," Elizabeth said, then stood and disappeared through the doorway. She returned moments later with a smile, cradling a bundle of cloth that had a few wisps of light brown hair peeking out the top. "Bootstrap, I'd like for you to meet your grandson, William Weatherby Turner."

"My grand-" The word caught in his throat as he got to his feet and looked down in wonder at the child in Elizabeth's arms. As Bootstrap reached out with one finger, William clasped on tightly. "He's strong."

"Yes. He's been growing very quickly lately. Would you like to hold him?"

Bootstrap nodded and awkwardly took the small bundle into his arms. God's wounds, he had a grandson! Awestruck, he marveled at the perfection he now held – William's inquisitive brown eyes, the way his lips moved to make small cooing sounds. It didn't seem possible that his own son had ever been this tiny, though it must have been true at some point.

"Is everything alright?" asked Elizabeth.

He reached up to his right cheek and discovered that a tear had escaped. Brushing it away roughly, he smiled at her. "Aye. It's just that two years ago, I knew for certain I'd never see my son again, and now…"

Words failed him.

William, apparently deciding that whoever was holding him wasn't going to meet his present needs, began to fuss again. Bootstrap reluctantly handed him back to Elizabeth.

"It's near his usual feeding time," she said apologetically, rocking her son gently back and forth to sooth him. "Normally he's very agreeable."

"It's fine. Will never liked for me to hold him, either." He watched William for a moment longer, then shook his head in disbelief. "He'll be overjoyed."

"Just please be careful to break the news to him gently. And make sure he knows that we're doing well on our own. I'm sure he'll manage to feel guilty for not being here, even if it can't be helped."

Bootstrap opted to say nothing regarding Will's own experience growing up with an absent father. "You should feed him," he said with a nod toward William, "and I should be off."

"Already? But you've only just arrived."

"I'd stay if I could, but we still need all the hands we can get on the Dutchman. I'm sure with this latest bit of news, though, Will'll have me going back and forth at every opportunity."

"Please do. You're always welcome in our home, no matter what the hour."

"You have my word that I'll come as often as I'm able." He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I nearly forgot, what with the surprise announcement – this is from him. I can't stay long enough for a reply, but I'll aim to check in on the both of you within the month."

Elizabeth eagerly grabbed the letter and was poring over its contents even as she carried William to the back room. When she didn't return immediately, Bootstrap decided to let himself out. He had no sooner reached the door, however, than he felt a hand on his arm.

"Will you give him this?" Elizabeth asked, handing him a folded handkerchief. Closer inspection of its contents revealed that it held a few strands of her own hair and a few strands of William's. "I know it probably seems an odd thing to send, but…"

"I'm sure he'll cherish it," Bootstrap assured her. He carefully folded the package again, then tucked it into his coat pocket. "Now, I really must go."

She nodded. "Thank you. For everything."

He gave her a faint smile and briefly placed one hand on top of hers. "That's what family's for."