Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Goes along with 'His Father'. I've suddenly been accosted by ideas for short stories for the PotC universe.
XXX
He could feel the swaying under his heavy body, back and forth, back and forth, and a warm and soft blanket lining his back. Could smell the all-too familiar scent of salt and sea, mingling together to create an aroma he felt would always follow him. Could hear murmurings from outside the door, crewmembers up early and figuring out what to do until the captain was awake, and small footsteps from above deck as the hushed conversations faded away. Could taste rum on his dry lips from last evening's nightcap with his father. Could only think of the day ahead of him, the same day he'd been living for what felt like a lifetime, asking the same question over and over and over again- Are you afraid to die? Could practically feel a heartbeat in his chest, even though no heart resided there.
But there was no window in his quarters below deck on the Flying Dutchman, so why could he feel sunlight pouring over him? And soon after that he realized- there was no swaying beneath him, only a complete stillness he hadn't felt since those few hours on that beautiful island with his new wife all those years ago. And those footsteps were not coming from above deck at all; they seemed to be originating from just outside the door.
And that warmth and softness against his back was not a blanket, but a person, whose arms were firmly wrapped around him.
Will Turner burst forth from his dreamlike state to full consciousness in a matter of seconds, his mind and body used to jolting into action. His eyes opened abruptly, and his vision was assaulted with sunlight, so blinding and foreign for just waking that he had to shut his eyes tightly against it. The person next to him made a small noise and pulled him even closer, and Will blinked and surveyed the room he was in.
Not his cabin on the Dutchman. A bedchamber with a dresser and a vanity and a chair and a window overlooking a green bluff and the sea just beyond. He wasn't on a ship in the middle of the ocean.
He was home.
He shifted so he was lying on his back, the incredibly fluffy pillow so much better than his folded arms that he usually laid his head on. He turned to watch the sleeping woman beside him and smiled softly and slowly, remembering how she looked the night before just after sunset, standing on the bluff above the beach waiting for him, watching for him, a young boy by her side; remembering how she had looked the last time he had seen her before that, sad and alone but filled to the brim with love for him, with promise, as he was forced to walk away.
Elizabeth Turner- (she'd been using his name since they wed, and even before that, he recalled with a smile)- had not much changed from the beautiful young woman he had married on a ship in the middle of battle a decade prior. She was older, of course, more mature in her appearance and personality, her hair a little darker and her mood a little more subdued, but her honey eyes still held the spark he'd fallen in love with nearly twenty years ago, and her voice still made his head spin and his heart (or at least the place where his heart should've been) light. He had missed her faithfully every day he was aboard the Flying Dutchman, had not let a minute go by without thinking of her, had not let an hour pass without praying that she still loved him, that she knew he still- and always would- love her.
He momentarily flashed to their second, more intimate reunion late last night, after they had put their son, their son, to bed, the boy exhausted from the anxious day of waiting and the evening of meetings and interrogations and stories. Will had kissed Elizabeth more passionately than he knew he could have, touched her more lovingly than he knew he was capable, and whispered I love you more times than he could count. He had forgotten, over the last ten years, how it felt to be with someone you loved more than anything else in the world, and now that he had remembered that feeling, he never wanted to leave it- her- again.
Will's ears perked as he heard more footsteps outside the room, and thought of the little person most likely jumping around pretending to be a pirate, wielding a stick fashioned as a sword, envisioning an adventure on the high seas with Jack Sparrow and Captain Barbossa.
Will was still having a hard time registering the fact that he had a son. As the Dutchman had been racing towards the shore the evening before, his thoughts had only been on Elizabeth, on his wife whom he loved and missed more than words could express. He'd been holding on to some rope, standing by the rail waiting until the ship was close enough that he could jump off and swim to the beach, when he'd spotted her: his Elizabeth, her dress flowing in the breeze as she headed through the tall grass.
Then he'd seen something that had made his lungs constrict, something that he knew would have stopped his heart if he had possessed one: a young boy standing by his wife's side, her hand on his shoulder and his familiar dark, shoulder-length hair blowing into his eyes.
Will had jumped into the water just at that moment and had swam the fastest he ever had in his life.
When Elizabeth had thrown herself into his arms, crying with a grin on her face, he thought he'd never be happier. He hugged her to his scarred chest, wishing she could be even closer than she was now, thanking God or whoever it was that had brought him home to her.
But then she had stepped back, motioning to the awestruck boy just behind them, and the child had walked up to her. She had proudly wrapped an arm around his shoulders, looking between the two with joy.
"Is he-" was all Will had been able to get out, a lump in his throat. "Is this-"
Elizabeth had introduced them, "William Turner… meet William Turner," and the young boy had run into his father's arms for the first time in his life.
Will had shed tears he hadn't known were in him any longer when he enveloped his son in his arms.
The three had spent hours and hours together after that, William asking his father an endless amount of questions, Will in turn wishing to know every single thing that had happened to Elizabeth and their son in the past ten years. Finally William had drifted to sleep sitting up on the floor, his head against his father's knee.
Will loved his son. He had loved his son from the moment he'd spotted the boy from the Dutchman. He could hardly believe just a day ago he'd had no knowledge of William Turner III, when now practically all he could think of was the child who had his hair and smile and stubbornness (though that probably came from both he and Elizabeth).
He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as well. Guilt for being gone ten years. Guilt for not being around when Elizabeth was with child, when their son was born, when he learned to walk and talk and count and read. Guilt for leaving his boy without a father figure for so long. Guilt for not being there to provide, protect, and love his family. Guilt for being a pirate.
William seemed to have heard practically every story there was about his father over the years, and Will worried he would not live up to the expectations the nine-year-old had created in his mind. Elizabeth had reassured him he would be an amazing father, but his conscious was still uneasy.
Now that the curse was broken, Will had many things to learn. How to be a good husband. How to be a good father. How to, once more, be a good blacksmith. How to balance his pirate life and his family life.
How to go on living without a beating heart in his chest.
Elizabeth stirred and Will turned his head to watch her once more. He lazily lifted the arm that wasn't around her head and gently pushed away the tendrils of hair that were covering her face. She smiled sleepily and blinked, and Will found his breath taken away. They had never woken up together before, had never had the chance.
"I had a horrible dream," she told him quietly, tracing the scar on his chest with a light touch.
"Oh?" he inquired, matching her volume, feeling afraid. He didn't want this to turn out to be a figment of his imagination. He'd had so many dreams about waking up next to her, and he thought that if he had one more, he wouldn't be able to stand it.
"You were gone for ten years," she continued, grabbing the hand that had been playing with her hair and kissing it.
"That wasn't a dream, love," he admitted to her. "But it is over now. I am back for good."
"Are you sure? Once a pirate, always a pirate. How do I know you aren't going to sail away in an hour?" she teased, her tongue between her teeth, looking once more eighteen years old.
"I'd only sail away in an hour if the Pirate King would join me," Will replied. "I'm never leaving you again."
Elizabeth smiled. "Good," she finally said, the back of her hand caressing his cheek, her eyes so full of love that Will almost had to look away for fear she'd see his tears of happiness. Years of perfected hardness were melting away with the slightest touch from her. He thought he could hear his heart, beating in the chest beside the bed, and imagined he could feel it.
There was a tiny knock on the door and they both lifted their heads to look. They shared a smile and Will kissed his wife quickly before rolling off of the bed and onto his feet. He reached the door and opened it as Elizabeth slowly rose as well, grabbing her dressing gown. William stood on the other side, his brown eyes big and bright.
"Good morning," Will said fondly, ruffling his son's hair. William grinned.
"Good morning," William answered politely, staring up at his father. He waited only a beat before continuing: "Father, will you tell me about Spain? I've never been before, but Mother promised we could go there sometime. Jack has told me stories… but I want to hear yours." His smile was shy.
"William, maybe you should give your father a little time-" Elizabeth began, joining the two at the door, but Will cut her off, his expression pleased.
"I'd be happy to, son," he agreed, clasping William on the shoulder, just as his own father had dozens and dozens of times over the past ten years.
He and Elizabeth followed William, who was already chatting away, down the hallway and into the cozy sitting room, the sun rising steadily in the sky, signaling Will's real first day as a new man. He'd missed a lot in his decade captaining the Flying Dutchman, and he was eager to make up for lost time.
And he was ready to start right now.
XXX
End.