Good Will to Men
Christmas 2006
Disclaimer: POTC is owned by the Mouse, but someday I'll own the Mouse.
Rating: G
Summary: A pre-COTBP holiday fic in which Bootstrap celebrates his first Christmas on the Flying Dutchman. The past is brooded over, the crew attempts to discuss religion, and Davy Jones refuses to play carols on his organ.
A wind is rustling "south and soft",
Cooing a quiet country tune,
The calm sea sighs, and far aloft
The sails are ghostly in the moon.
Unquiet ripples lisp and purr,
A block there pipes and chirps i'the sheave,
The wheel-ropes jar, the reef points stir
Faintly-and it is Christmas Eve.
-John Masefield, from Christmas Eve at Sea
Though time had already begun to blur in the mind of Bootstrap Bill Turner it had not faded fast enough to spare him the realization of what particular night it was. Even if it had, it was not certain the he would not have known, for the strange light feeling that crept into hearts annually during the winter season had begun to permeate the decks of the Flying Dutchman. Just a year before on the very same evening Bootstrap could have sworn he heard the angels singing, their voices rising from the bubbling waves that splashed heavenwards before falling back from the crisp night air. The ocean had glittered and the ship beamed like the pearl she was, a radiant black star against the backdrop of a shimmering sky.
"You see that star?" his young captain had said, his ringed fingers pointing to the biggest and brightest of them all. "It's shining for us, Bill. For the two of us and the Pearl. It's guiding us just like it did for them three wise men."
"I didn't know you were religious, Jack."
"T'night I am."
"Tonight I'm yours!" Bill said as he swept Katherine into his arms and set her down in the open doorway. She grinned when she saw the mistletoe that hung above them.
"Did you truly need an excuse?" She said playfully before their lips met and they kissed sweetly in the glow of a generous fire. Will giggled and came to clutch the bottom of his mother's dress.
"I helped him hang it, Mama."
"And it looks beautiful, love." She picked up her young son. "Shouldn't you be off to bed? The sooner you are the sooner Christmas comes."
"But Papa's leaving after." The boy pouted. He looked up at Bill. "You'll be back by next Christmas, right? Say you will."
"Of course I will!" cried Bill, taking Will and hugging him. "And I'll bring you back the best gift you've ever gotten."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He had kept his word as much as he could. He sent Will a present he knew would excite him; a sneering skull molded into pure Aztec gold.
It had always bothered Bill that circumstances could change so quickly. With one word, one decision his life had become what it was; twice-cursed and empty. The rest of the crew knew what a curse was and what it was like to live with, but none knew his personal pain. Of the sea by day, of hell by night they said of him and because of his damnation he was as cold and isolated from them as the Flying Dutchman was from humanity.
The angels may have sung for the Black Pearl, but there would be no such honor for the Dutchman. It had been an angel who first damned the ship, bathing her in St. Elmo's fire and banishing her to the seas forever. Wyvern had been a young boy then, and he could tell the tale in way that would make one's slimy skin crawl. A chill would descend over the crew and the story would haunt them as they toiled, but soon most of them would forget it. There were some that could not even remember their former name, let alone the life they have forsaken perhaps centuries before. A few could, or at least had vivid imaginations, and impressed the others with recounts of their escapades.
"Can't you tell us a story?" had been Hadras' surprising question one of Bill's first days on the ship.
Aye, and such a story! He had thought, but kept his mouth shut.
Desperate for consolation on what should have been a joyful night, some of the crew was now sitting nearby, dim figures in the fog that followed the ship. The tediously familiar strains of Jones' song pulsated through the gloom and added to the seemingly ordinary night that it was not. Their glance at lonely Bill was not entirely uninviting and he thanked the mist for hiding the moon.
"He could at least play something a bit more festive," complained Palifico. As if in defiance the organ boomed louder.
"You shouldn't talk," snapped Clanker, who was perpetually put off. "Besides, the story isn't true."
"Whadda you know?" said Jimmylegs, the bosun. "Of course it's true. Why else would the captain be in so foul a mood today of all days?"
"I remember readin' the Bible. I always liked that story," said Hadras. "Do we have a Bible, Maccus?"
"Of course not," snarled Maccus. "Shut yer gob, you fools. He can hear what yer saying."
The creatures paid no heed to him.
"Did you read the story, Bill?"
"Aye, and it's not nonsense, its fact, no matter what Jones says."
They growled their approval, but all of a sudden the music stopped.
"There's a ship off the starboard side!" said Greenbeard, and the rest of them rushed to the rail. She was a merchant vessel, heavily armed and a rich prize. She glowed with candlelight and rocked peacefully with the swell, oblivious to the Flying Dutchman and her imminent danger. The faint melody of a Christmas carol could be heard and many voices joined in unison.
Davy Jones stomped to the side and looked out at the ship with bright eyes. Bill tensed and watched a myriad of emotions cross his face, from sadness and longing to silent rage.
"Are we going down, captain?" Maccus said excitedly. Bill held his breath and waited for an answer that would surely spell doom for the happy ship. Jones sighed.
"As you were."
Bootstrap failed to hold in a startled gasp and the rest of the bewildered crew reluctantly drifted from the sight. Jones frowned and turned away. "Merry Christmas, Turner."
Far above them, hidden by fog, a star was burning bright.