Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Just the plot really.

Author's note: well, this is my first fic here. And slash. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Please? Thanks. And enjoy…

If you happened to be strolling through the island of Tortuga on dark, windy night, you would most likely come across a dingy tavern. And if you happened to enter said tavern, you would most definitely come across a huddled form at the end of the bar that was a shadow of his former glory.

Jack Sparrow spent every day and night in that tavern. The bartender/ landlord didn't mind, so long as Jack paid regularly and kept to himself. Jack drank bottle after bottle of rum until he passed out, which was quite a lot of rum.

This in itself wasn't unusual, as Jack was known for his love of rum, and frequently asking why it was gone. However, what was unusual was why Captain Sparrow was drinking. He wasn't drinking simply to drink, as was his wont. He was drinking to forget and numb the pain.

Not terribly long ago, after Barbossa had sailed off with his ship…again…in search of the Fountain of Youth, he had found him. He rallied a mutiny against Barbossa and left him on a god-forsaken spit of land with naught but a bottle of rum. A bottle of rum in which he might have slipped a poison into. As far as he knew, the man was, once and for all, dead. He'd gone back to Tortuga to pick up Gibbs, and set off after the Fountain.

It seemed though, Calypso hadn't finished with him. Apparently, she took it ill that he'd been in on the freeing her business. She'd whipped up a fierce tempest and dashed his beloved Black Pearl against the rocks. Only Jack made it out alive, clinging to one of the larger boards that had once been his ship. That was his punishment; to live knowing his arrogance had cost his crew their life. How had it been his fault? Jack had seen the storm coming and insisted upon sailing through it anyway. Was his ship not the infamous Black Pearl? Was he not Captain Jack Sparrow? He'd led them to their watery graves. He was no longer Captain Jack Sparrow.

Now he was just a lonely man with naught but rum.

He slumped on the bar stool, raising the bottle to his lips. Empty. Again. 'Why do I hafta live with this?' he wondered. He wasn't one given to despair. It wasn't his nature to do so. But with his ship irretrievably gone, and his crew dead, he didn't much see the point. To anything at all really. He couldn't plunder, or sail wherever the wind took him.

A familiar voice roused him from his self-deprecating stupor. " Add a case o'rum to tha' willya?" Jack looked up, glazed, unfocused eyes taking in the figure.

"B-Bootstrap?" he had to clear his throat. His voice was cracked and hoarse from lack of use. Bootstrap looked around. "Jack! Good to…er…see yeh." He took in Jack's disheveled appearance. "What're you doin' here?" Jack asked. "Cap'n wants more rum," Bootstrap's tone indicated how much he disliked that.

It took Jack's rum soaked mind a minute to grasp that. Cap'n? Oh! William! Drinking rum? "Why's Will need rum?" "Will's fallen on hard times Jack," Bootstrap answered. Who hadn't?

"Harder than becoming Captain of the Flying Dutchman and not allowed to see his bonnie lass for ten years?" Bill nodded solemnly. It was then Jack made one of the more important decisions in his life. He couldn't sit on the bar stool forever. Well, he could. But he didn't want to. Besides his ass being sore, dear William was in port. And seemingly in need of company. Perhaps Lizzie had decided she didn't want to wait for him, and married some swotty government official, and Will wasn't taking the rejection well. The least he could do was pay the lad a visit. He wouldn't mind being reacquainted with Will.

"I'm coming with you Bill."