Author name: Vera Dune, veradune@hotmail.com
Category: Drama
Subcategory: Action/Adventure
Keywords: pirates Bootstrap Bill Turner Jack Sparrow slash
Rating: PG
Summary: At the bottom of the sea, Bootstrap Bill Turner remembers what has brought him there.
Disclaimer: Though I would *love* to own Jack Sparrow, he's not mine. Nor are any of the other characters; three words: Disney Disney Disney.
Author's notes: I'm quite proud of myself to be able to dedicate my first ever fic to such a great pairing, involving a) pirates and b) Johnny Depp. XD
***
Memoriter
Bootstrap Bill Turner remembers the expression on Jack Sparrow's face when he told him he was to get married the next day. He remembers the widening of those sherry-coloured eyes, the parting of his lips and the way he stopped in his tracks mid-stagger. And he remembers the strange look on his face before it faded into polite incredulity.
"You're a pirate."
"Hard to forget that."
"No, no, no," -- Jack waved a tanned and heavily bejeweled hand impatiently -- "you're a pirate, mate. Savvy?" He paused, watching Bootstrap hopefully, but when the desired reaction didn't come, added, "And pirates can't get married."
"Yes they can," Bootstrap Bill said carefully. "I found a priest up in Tortuga --"
"Does the lass even know?" Jack interrupted. The uncharacteristic edge in his voice tipped Bill off on how much this was really unsettling the Captain, though watching the raised eyebrow and crooked grin imbued with the irresistible charm that countless women had fallen prey to, it would have been hard to tell.
"I'm an honest man, Jack."
"Honest as a pirate." Jack turned, then, and Bootstrap Bill could feel the resentment radiating in waves from him.
Bootstrap Bill Turner shifts slightly, feeling the heavy weight tugging against his left leg and the water in his nostrils, his throat, his lungs. He has forgotten to breathe, but doing so only irritates his respiratory system and he stops after an experimental inhalation. He is so tired. It is as if all his strength left him with the coin that he sent to little Will, and now that Jack is avenged, his anger is gone, and he is alone in the murky depths of the sea, he can only remember.
He feels something brush against his cheek, a fish, perhaps, or a weed, and thinks of Kate. He thinks of the last time that he saw her, more than five years ago, and wonders whether little Will remembers him. They seemed such a proper little family, like the one proper and well-mannered Bill Turner had grown up in, before he became Bootstrap Bill, and seeing Kate clad in a laced dress of the latest fashion, a beautiful and loving mother, Bootstrap knew that she was where she belonged. He wishes that little Will can be told the truth when he is old enough -- he must be nine now, Bootstrap calculates painstakingly -- or at least most of it. Leave the Aztec curse out, perhaps, and the fact that his father cannot die. Leave the mutiny out.
He is reminded of Jack again, this time on the night when it happened. They both knew what Barbossa had planned for midnight that evening, and as typically as ever, Jack had laughed and slurred, shook his dark head as if they were discussing the tragic and unfortunate fate of another, and thrown him a bottle of rum. Such inescapable charm, such unkillable pride, and that devilishness about him that could get him out of the tightest spots. Jack Sparrow was an infamous Captain for his mad ideas of escapades, even though the rest of the crew only knew half of them if Bootstrap Bill could help it. He could be dead serious one moment, self-mocking and childish the next, and only Bootstrap was able to tell the difference between when he was drunk and when he was sober. (It had to do with his subject of conversation, how often he would lapse into silence before completing a thought, and sometimes, how he kissed.) The crew thought they spent too much time fleeing instead of chasing, getting into trouble instead of gathering loot. Barbossa had promised them so much more.
Bootstrap Bill has to admit that at that moment, staring at a slightly-drunken Captain Jack Sparrow, head thrown back and feet propped up on the wooden table, looking as carefree as ever, he wondered to himself whether he would have joined Barbossa and the rest of the crew if it had been someone else. And when Jack lifted his head to meet his gaze with unusually lucid eyes, any trace of a smile gone from his face, he felt the guilt, dread and something else curling in his gut.
Any doubts he had were dispelled that night.
When he woke, it was already too late. He had no idea how he had managed to get so drunk before twilight, though an interior voice told him shrewdly that Jack had planned it, hadn't wanted him to be there and act rashly. He could hear Jack's voice shouting from far away, curses, threats, all heartbreakingly empty.
He remembers how the voice died away, and finally going onto the deck to see the lonely shape on the island, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
He remembers the anger that has fueled him since then.
Lying peacefully at the bottom of the sea, Bootstrap Bill Turner wonders whether Jack Sparrow is alive and will hear the stories and know what he has done for him.
Hours have passed; the Black Pearl is long gone. Bootstrap Bill moves slowly through the water, finding his boot, a dark shape that seems disfigured in the murky waters. He fumbles for the strap and tugs. The leather rips, and the chain goes free. Suddenly light as a feather, Bootstrap feels himself shooting up towards the surface. When he reaches it he coughs up seawater, blinded by the sweltering sun, and begins swimming. He will find out for himself.
After all, he has an eternity before him.
***
Review please! ^^
A few corrections were made due to a second viewing of the film yesterday. And to those who kindly asked for it, I'm working on a sequel of sorts, though this is technically a one-shot. ^_~