Never Learned to Drown
By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply, I'm dabbling in someone else's sandbox.
Pairings: pre-Jack/Will, some Will/Elizabeth, hints of Norrington/Elizabeth
Rating: Mature, bordering on Adults Only
Warnings: Het stuff (W/E to an extent, hints of W/Tia), unresolved issues
Series: sequel to Lost at Sea
Summary: Will becomes familiar with what it means to be captain and perhaps sympathizes with Davy Jones.
Thanks to klear0bsession for boosting my confidence, which really helped encourage me to continue and wrap this story up. She remarks that this series has the makings of an epic, I'm starting to worry that she's right... Thanks also to danglingdingle for asking some good questions and making remarks that helped fine-tune some additions.
William Turner watches the sky lighten as he secures the scarf around his hair. His feet are bare, digging into the sand he will be unable to touch for ten years. If asked, he would have to admit that he passed his night spending as much time taking in the feel of the land as the feel of his bride's body against his.
Now that she has entered his thoughts he is unable to avoid the conversation he knows will complicate their parting. Elizabeth, the girl he'd become enamored with while still a boy, a girl he watched grow up. She's a complicated woman full of passion and noble ideals, yet decidedly stubborn and willing to be ruthless in pursuing her goals.
Will closes his eyes and buries his feet deeper in the sand. He does love her, yet he could love her so much more – more sincerely – with time. He's only known for little over a week what transpired between their interrupted wedding and the Pearl's – and Jack's – destruction. In the aftermath of the kraken, the resentment and doubt had grown from a seed planted sometime during his search for Jack.
He loves her, but it is nothing like the all-consuming and send-you-flying sort of love he once imagined it would be. Perhaps it is only that they have both matured to see the world more realistically, but there is part of him that knows they have their own paths to walk...
"Will." Elizabeth's arms slide over his shoulders and her hands wander down his chest, conspicuously avoiding the jagged scar. "We've some time yet..." Her lips brush over his ear and he leans against her, wishing her touch or her voice would fill the void in him. He knows that the organ removed from his chest is more a physical symbol for rather than manifestation of his emotions and soul, but he feels very detached from the world since its loss.
Gently he guides her hands away from his hips and kisses her palms. "Liz... I need to speak with you."
With a sigh she sits beside him in the sand. Her shift is unlaced, hiding very little, and she seems to purposefully let the sleeve slip over her shoulder. She casts him a suggestive look; Will offers her a weak smile in return.
"You know that I..." Strange how hard he finds what he has to say when he's thought about it since Tia Dalma suggested he would take Jones' place. He looks out at the sea and finds his gaze lingering on the Black Pearl.
"I won't be able to step ashore for—"
"Ten years," she finishes. Her smile is strained when he glances at her. "Yes, I know. I... You know I'll wait?"
Will again looks at the sea and watches the ships. "Elizabeth," he says softly, "I will not bind you." His gaze drops to his sandy feet. "You've always fought to be free. Who am I to try and trap you?"
Her hand slides into his. "Not trapped, Will! We've been waiting for this! All of this time, haven't we been working towards... towards us?" He can't quite remember how long ago they had been ready to marry. A year? Less, or more? "Will, I've been waiting for you since I can remember."
He hates hearing the heartbreak in her voice, but there is no time to ease slowly through this conversation. He turns to face her and cups her cheek in his hand. "How much, Elizabeth?" She looks at him in confusion. "How much time have you spent pining for me? Who else have you... Has there not been anyone else you've thought about?" Before she can turn away to hide guilty eyes, he assures, "I don't mean Jack. Whatever that was..." he trails off and lets it lay, needing that to remain in the past so he doesn't rekindle the fire of anger and bitterness.
"I loved you so long from afar. I doubt I'll ever meet someone else like you. But I've only begun to know myself and you've... we've both changed so much." His voice drops to a whisper as he watches her eyes close, hiding the flash of recognition and hurt in her expression. "I love you, do not doubt that. But you belong to no man and I will not pretend to keep you."
"Why," she whispers, voice wavering, "then did you ask for us to be married?"
Will strokes her cheek with his thumb. "Because I promised you." Her eyes open and he fights a grimace at her stricken look. "Shh... I mean that you have had my heart from the beginning. I trust only you to guard it. And I promise you that I will return."
Confusion evident on her face, she says, "What are you asking of me?"
"Nothing," he replies, smiling gently. "I will not change you and could not even if I wished." He wonders if she also is reminded of Calypso. "You have my love, without terms or conditions. I wish you to be happy and live your life."
He pauses, waiting for his words to sink in before continuing. Part of him wonders how long it took for Jones to lose himself and if the same fate will find him. However, at present Elizabeth's fate is the only one he is concerned with.
"I will not be with you, and you cannot follow me," he reminds gently. He watches the reality finally start to sink in and brings her into his embrace. Against her hair he murmurs, "You're so alive. I hate the thought that my memory would hold you back from anything or anyone. Surely you'd hate to be alone."
"Doesn't mean I'll fall in love with someone else," she protests, face pressed against his shoulder.
Will strokes her hair soothingly. "I'm not saying you must. Just know that you owe me nothing."
The sun's earliest rays appear in the sky. When he turns his head he can see the tide inching closer, reaching for him as sure as the siren song playing in his mind. This must be what it's like for Jack, he thinks, when he talks with Pearl.
Elizabeth pulls away eventually and meets his gaze. He does not comment on the wetness on her cheeks. Her fingertips trace his lips as she smiles sadly. "I've kissed only a few," she begins quietly, "though your lips are the only ones that matter. I can't imagine— but maybe I don't understand yet." She takes a deep breath and drops her hand. "You'll always be more than a memory, Will; don't think so little of yourself. And if you ask nothing of me but to keep your heart safe—" they share a smile at the double meaning "—then I must insist you have no obligations to me."
Before he can protest her lips are on his in a fierce kiss. When they part she looks away and says, "I don't know what awaits you. But maybe... maybe there will be someone who captures your interest."
Will gently guides her to face him again. "I'm ferryman to the dead," he murmurs, trying hard to hide the resignation in his voice.
"If I'm to be happy, you must find a way, too." Her expression sets in determination and Will can feel his lips twitch upwards.
"Alright," he promises.
He doesn't say goodbye. When he returns to the Dutchman he walks straight to the helm and orders the crew to get underway. His father relinquishes the wheel silently, although Will can tell by his expression that he wants to say something; Will catches Bootstrap staring at the Pearl still anchored in place. Quickly he looks away and locks his eye on the horizon.
Considering that he has no real idea of the particulars of his captainship, he feels surprisingly calm. Beneath his hands the wood feels warm and alive, so unlike he imagined after his previous stay aboard the Dutchman. As the sun rises, he beginnings to hear a collection of murmuring voices, too quiet to distinguish any words. The ship hums beneath his feet as an accompaniment, and he can sense her anticipation.
Where can you take me? he questions silently. Guide me.
The Dutchman arcs into the next wave and she begins her dive beneath the sea. For a moment Will can only think of his numerous experiences of almost-drowning; he has a strong desire to hold his breath. As the ocean swallows the Dutchman the voices in the back of his mind grow louder and one familiar female voice separates from the rest.
"De Duchess be gentle when you love her. You have not'ing to fear from de sea. You be free to sail dese waters if you do de job that you been given." Tia Dalma – Calypso, now. He lets the Dutchman sail as she will while he listens intently to Tia. "Dere be many souls yet to cross worlds; Davy Jones abandon dem. You mus' see to dem."
"What do I do?" he asks. How is he to guide wandering spirits of the dead? Is he to ask if any wish to be part of his crew? Will does not know yet if the Dutchman needs a full crew, but he has only a handful of men since much of Jones' crew opted to move on when he voided their debt.
"Your Duchess know wha' to do," Tia says, sounding amused. "An' you will know dem dat belong wit' de crew, 'n dem dat might no' be prepared to die."
Her words are suddenly lost in a surge of voices moaning and screaming and crying. Will grips the wheel to keep from falling to his knees during the onslaught. It takes some time for the initial shock to wear away and realize that the Dutchman has surfaced again. The noise lessens somewhat, the number of people clamoring for his attention lessening.
"Capt'n, eight to starboard."
Will approaches the rail at his father's call and searches the sea below. Bile rises in his throat when he sees the navy men in the water, staring up at the ship in terror. Each man stays afloat with the aid of a barrel. He remembers all too well the feel of rope and waxy skin beneath his hands as he tied dead men into place and pushed them off the Pearl in order to leave a trail for Beckett.
"We're to take them aboard," Bootstrap says gently. He nods towards the four men standing on deck, looking up at the helm and awaiting orders. "Else they can follow behind."
Shaking off his memories, Will turns to the crew and says, "Bring them on. Work quickly, we have plenty more to find." He turns away from the rail and his father's concerned gaze. Back at the wheel, he retreats into his mind and tentatively tries reaching out to the voices, searching for the source of each cry. He can feel the Dutchman tremble under his feet when he finds the next group of souls calling for guidance.
Will can hear every creak of the Dutchman as the number of passengers increase. The ship dips into the waves readily at his direction and they travel steadily from each call to the next. Time becomes something of a forgotten entity until the sun appears in his view and he must squint against the light.
"We'll be needin' to cross at sundown," Bootstrap murmurs, appearing at the captain's side. All day he has quietly related what helpful information he can. Will can tell his father is making a great effort to not sound imposing or controlling. He appreciates the help.
"Have the crew take shifts one at a time. I've no desire to sleep tonight; the Dutchman knows her way, she'll guide me." He ponders what he's just said, then asks, "Why is she the Dutch-man?"
Bootstrap's startled chuckle is a pleasure to hear, something human in this otherwise alien setting. "I don't know, lad. Mebbe she'll give you a different name. She likes you." His hand briefly caresses the wheel as he comments, "I never felt her so vibrant."
"We're getting on well," Will agrees absently. Another voice is calling him, a soul lost and confused with an undercurrent of desperation. Judging by the sun, there isn't much time before he must make the crossing; this will be the last call for the day. He tries not to think about how long it will take to catch up on Jones' work.
Beneath his hands, Will feels more than hears the Dutchman's despondent sigh. He suddenly feels the distinct lack of his heart as both the ship's and lost soul's cries echo in his mind. He looks around to find his small crew tending to the current passengers. Bootstrap squats beside two small girls trying to play cat's cradle. None of the crew seem to be aware they should be searching.
Frowning at the strange inattentiveness, Will steps away from the wheel and lets his instincts guide him. His feet take him to port and he leans over the rail. In the water he first notices the naval hat of a commander. He wonders at the lack of other soldiers; how did an officer perish without his men?
"Come back for me?" a familiar voice drawls, irritation and sarcasm overriding a hint of resignation.
Will's gaze quickly locks on the man bobbing in the waves. He casts a rope ladder over the side as he responds, "Jones is gone. Come aboard, Mister Norrington." He watches as the man below squints against the setting sun. After a few moments he swims toward the ship.
Will steps away from the rail once he knows Norrington is climbing. In the short amount of time he has before facing the former commodore, he attempts to organize his thoughts. He hasn't thought about the man for months, since before Jack's rescue truly got underway. Even before then Norrington hadn't played much of role in his life.
As the man climbs over the railing, formal navy uniform soaked and wig missing, Will feels a twinge of sympathy from the Dutchman. Norrington smoothes a hand over his hair, a useless attempt to curb his disheveled appearance. He straightens, shoulders back, which manages to remind Will of the once stuffy commodore. Looking at him now, Will realizes he harbors no ill-feelings for the man and perhaps holds a degree of regret at the man's fate.
"Well, Mister Turner, this is a sur—a surprise." Norrington's gaze falls to Will's scar. He has no idea that the captain can hear his silent screams of resentment; bitter anger coils around him, trapping him with frustration and helplessness. Part of him tries to reach out, regret slipping through the angry and begging softly for forgiveness. Will has the sense that Norrington doesn't know the true cause of his emotions.
"Things have a way of turning out unexpectedly," he says mildly. "I thought Beckett's reward were Letters of Marque?"
Norrington's jaw tightens and he refuses to meet Will's stare. "I had asked for reinstatement."
Will hums in agreement, this is not what he is particularly interested in. "I'm surprised Beckett didn't think you as much of a threat as the governor."
"I didn't know!" Norrington snaps, but his anger is automatic and the Dutchman groans quietly with the unspoken guilt.
"You were not in control," Will says. The other man looks about to respond, not understanding that this is a statement of fact, not an accusation or question. "I think we both know Beckett's power-hungry machinations were carefully planned. He had the control." His own jaw tightens at the memory of the extensive subterfuge that had to be undertaken in order to finally overthrow the overzealous lord. "He hadn't counted on the complications from Davy Jones; perhaps that's the thing that saved us in the end."
Norrington's disgusted expression speaks volumes. True, this man has not been saved; to an extent, neither has Will. Once again they find they are two faces of the same coin.
The sun is getting lower and Will feels the Dutchman's increasing desire to get underway. He motions for Norrington to follow him to the helm.
They're silent until Will takes the wheel. Bootstrap approaches, then stops abruptly, eyes widening as he stares over his son's shoulder. Glancing back, Will finds that Norrington is eyeing the other man warily. Instantly he knows why Norrington is dead, it's not hard to imagine when he himself fought against his father.
Quietly he says, "Mister Turner, tell the crew we'll be crossing soon." Bootstrap nods and turns away.
Will remains silent for a long while, following the Dutchman's directions as they plunge deep beneath the waves, the ocean rushing by like a fierce gale until suddenly the bow pierces the air of another realm. The sky is black as pitch, but the stars are brighter here. When he breathes, Will can smell a difference. He can hear more souls here than he has in the past day, but these are far more calm murmurings, the confusion missing from their tones.
The passengers drift toward the railings to stare across the impossibly smooth, mirrored surface of the sea. Will turns his head towards Norrington and invites, "When were you on the ship?"
"The chest was moved on board at Beckett's insistence. I was sent with men to guard it while Mercer kept an eye on Jones..." His eyes narrow as he glances at the captain. "Why should this matter to you?"
Will gazes at the stars as the Dutchman makes her own way. "Could be I wouldn't mind filling in the gaps. I might also be in need of stories to keep me company in the coming years."
Norrington is silent for a long while. "The ship attacked Sao Feng. When Jones' crew brought prisoners aboard, Elizabeth claimed captainship." He sighs. "I tried to keep her from the brig..."
Will almost smiles. "She wouldn't want special treatment."
"No," the other agrees reluctantly. "Seeing her, a familiar face, reminded me that I could not– hide or forget the past. I didn't find my way with Beckett any better than my other decisions." His tone is self-deprecating. "So I decided to help her escape. She even asked me to come with, started arguing when I said no..."
"You were stopped," Will guesses. "My father was lost to Jones' corruption of the ship." He isn't sure he should say any more, but eventually adds, "I'm sorry."
Norrington laughs. "For what? I've accused you of ruining my life, yet I managed that on my own. I can hardly hold you accountable for anyone else's actions."
They stand quietly together. More passengers wander up on deck to stare at the uncharted waters and breathtaking sky. The Dutchman whispers to Will that this is her real home, the place beyond reality with a different and indistinct set of rules. She reaches to caress the void within him and promises she can heal it if he'll let her. When he doesn't respond to the touch, she tells him of the numerous figures of legend she has carried to the edge.
"So Beckett's gone along with Jones," Norrington interrupts. Will glances sidelong.
"Yes. Beckett's dead, along with many of his men." He watches Norrington's lips press together a little tighter. "I believe we retrieved most of them today," he says, an implied question about recognition in his voice. Norrington shakes his head in the negative.
"Do you plan to take Beckett?"
Will's hands tighten on the wheel and he can feel a surge of anger in the Dutchman. "No. Let him drift forever or wallow in self-pity. I'm done with him."
Norrington's lips turn up slightly in a smile. "I notice the crew is lacking their former uniform."
"The job itself is not damned," Will says without emotion. "But it is not difficult to imagine that the years wear away at one's sanity, and the absence of a heart twists one's perceptions."
It takes some time for Norrington to respond. "With good companions, a sailor finds his home on his ship."
"And when said sailor's heart lies elsewhere, with others beyond his reach? Companionship is far more complex than you, and even I, can understand at this time." Will's eyes focus straight ahead, wishing he could make himself dismiss the other man; Norrington is the last connection to his former life, and he's unwilling to let the chance to hold on slip through his fingers.
"It never occurred to me you would accept anything as impossible." Norrington sounds thoughtful rather than sarcastic. There's a hint of amusement in his voice, then: "Perhaps no Jack Sparrow..."
"Captain," Will automatically reacts. He closes his eyes and ignores the quiet laugh from his companion. The sudden swell of pain feels like it saps all his strength. He struggles not to slump but isn't sure he succeeds. The Dutchman reaches for him again, attempting to surround the ache and ease it.
"I think it best we leave Jack in the past," Will says, eyes still closed.
Norrington says nothing, and Will is loath to attempt the start of another conversation.
Will watches as dozens of small boats rise up from the sea on either side of the Dutchman. Bootstrap approaches the helm, gaze wandering to eye Norrington who is at the rail watching the empty boats.
"We leave 'em here," Bootstrap explains. "The currents will guide 'em."
"Alright." Will glances at Norrington from the corner of his eye before deciding what to say. Bootstrap waits patiently. "Would you see to them? I'll be there in a moment."
Norrington's shoulders slump as Will approaches. The man's knuckles are white from his grip on the Dutchman. "So this is the end," he says bitterly.
Will stands beside him and stares down into the dark waters. "I don't know where you go from here," he admits. "I'm not sure I'll ever know." He feels the other man's stare. "You died for love." He almost smiles at the absurdity of the statement and such hopeless romanticism. "I died... because I was conveniently nearby when Jones decided to taunt Jack." He remembers Elizabeth's sobbing and her trembling hands, but he doesn't remember seeing her – in his mind he sees the shock and anguish overwhelming Jack's features.
"You have a task to do," Norrington says. "Though it separates you— I'm not sure I'm envious, Mister Turner, but neither can I say I'm relieved to merely..." he waves a hand at the dinghies, "float away."
A few of the boats have filled with spirits and drift away, invisible currents leading the souls on the correct path. Will listens to the sea calming its charges and welcoming them to the realm beyond death. He can still feel the fear and anxiety of the passengers on board but feels assured that they will be comforted. Norrington's soul is unlike the others, though – full of frustration and resistance.
"You will know dem dat belong wit' de crew, 'n dem dat might not be prepared to die." The memory of Tia's voice seems to reach the Dutchman and she responds. The ship eagerly grasps at him, assuring him that she can lend the power to enable the impossible. Will considers the offering, unsure if he has the right to decide such things. The Dutchman whispers that he is the captain, now, the ferryman watching over the gates between life and death; as such, he is granted certain privileges, as long as the power is not abused.
Norrington straightens up with a deep breath. He exhales slowly and adjusts his ponytail. "Well, then. I expect this is where we part for good."
Will reaches out a hand to stay the man. "Wait." He turns to face Norrington; he's impressed when the other doesn't flinch away from his stare. "Do you really feel it's your time?"
A suspicious look creeps into Norrington's expression. "I don't believe I understand."
"You haven't corrected your wrongs." Will encircles the man's wrist in a tight hold. "The lessons learned are better put to practice than merely remembered. If returned, will you seek out the path opened to you?"
"What?" Norrington looks a little dazed.
"You've continued to love her," Will says quietly. "Despite everything, you love her. That's more than I can say. If I return you, will you seek her out and find if she is the one you want to follow? Elizabeth invited you to escape, it seems to me you already made your decision but were hindered by my father." He tugs the man closer until there's barely a breath between them. "Do you want this chance?"
For impossibly long seconds, Norrington stares at him in wide-eyed wonder. Will sees fears in the man's eyes for the first time, and for some reason he feels relieved.
Finally Norrington breathes, "Yes."
Will dreams of an endless beach; white sand stretches as far as the eye can see, piling into dunes a few yards from the tide line. His feet sink into wet sand as he slowly walks in the surf. He hesitates to step beyond the water, afraid that he won't be able to.
There is no ship waiting in the distance, only him, the beach, the sky, and the sea. He feels a little unnerved that he appears to be in the Locker, he isn't sure why he's here. The tide fills the imprints of his feet. When he tries walking backwards to watch his vanishing tracks, he feels like a ghost.
"De rules don' apply here, William." Tia Dalma's heavily accented voice is strangely welcoming. He turns to see her standing on dry sand a short distance away. "Come join me." She holds out a hand, beckoning.
Hesitantly Will steps away from the surf. When nothing untoward happens, he continues to approach. "Tia," he greets as he takes her hand. "Is there a reason for your visit?"
She leans into him, smiling broadly with half-lidded eyes. "Is a lonely life on de sea. I don' wan' you slippin' from him heart."
"What?" Will chooses to ignore how Tia's fingers caress his hand and pull him ever closer until their breaths intermingle. Her dark eyes trap him and though he doesn't feel himself falling into the gaze, he cannot look away.
"Yers no' de only heart lock away," she confides. "I won' see you suffer Davy Jones' fate. An' mebbe I known you an' fair Jack before."
Feeling very confused, Will asks, "What's Jack got to do with anything?"
Instead of answering, Tia leads him into a kiss, firm and gentle. Although startled, Will doesn't push her away. She presses his hand to her breast and with her other hand slips into his open shirt and strokes the long scar. She runs her fingertips along his ribs and traces invisible patterns over his stomach. All the while she continues to kiss him, mouth slowly working to part his lips and slip her tongue inside. He eventually moves, surprising himself when he wraps an arm around her and presses closer. She lets go of his hand and explores his body with more determination.
Will palms her breast, cupping the softness and gently stroking his thumb over the bare skin not covered by her dress. Tia moans softly into his mouth, encouraging. Hesitantly, he pushes her bodice down. His fingers travel the exposed flesh with a light touch; she shivers. Her hands travel to his belt and make quick work of it, allowing her easier access to his breeches. When she first strokes him through his clothes, Will gasps and breaks away from the kiss. His eyes shut tightly, suddenly frightened to see the woman doing this to him. He thinks of Elizabeth, his wife, the only woman he's lain with. Tia seems to sense his fear and her caresses gentle. She murmurs something indistinguishable into his ear.
He had not been completely unfamiliar with sex when he consummated his marriage, but he had never been involved with a woman in that way. In the strained months between the kraken and the Locker, he had discovered many of the distractions offered in port, particularly where pirates were welcome. In dark alleys and cramped backrooms he learned the relief of visceral contact between men. Most encounters included frenzied jerk-offs or pricks in mouths. A time or two he'd taken a man over a barrel and watched in fascination how his cock disappeared into another man's body. Despite numerous offers, he never let himself be taken in that way, though a few times his partner had fingered his hole. Even while he was angry and lost in a turmoil of emotions over Elizabeth, he had not betrayed her by laying with another woman, nor had he felt much tempted by the offers he received.
Now Tia presses against him, bare breasts flattening against his chest. He can feel a nipple against his sternum and is acutely aware of her thigh between his legs, her hand at his ass, and the other hand brushing the skin above his breeches. He knows she is fascinated by him, although he isn't sure why, and can feel her desire to know him in this way; he also knows that she will not force him into this or protest if he declines. Only, he isn't sure if he wants to turn her away.
After some time, she removes her hand from his waist and strokes her fingers over his cheek. She coaxes him to meet her stare. When their eyes meet, she says, "You owe me not'ing, William Turner." Her hand moves to his chest, pressing against the scar marking where his heart used to beat. "You desire devotion 'n I be no man's 'only.' Whad do you wan'?" she whispers. "Your heart no' lost, feel id 'n find wha' id tell you."
"Why?" he asks, suddenly exhausted.
"Calypso pays her debts," she says without further explanation.
The last thing he sees before he wakes is her smile and eyes lit with a spark of anticipation.
Before the sun gets very high, Will guides the Dutchman towards the quiet song he recognizes belongs to the Black Pearl. He realizes now that he's heard her before when alone with her captain.
While he watches the pirate crew scramble about in surprise, Norrington climbs the stairs to join him. Will turns to face the man, knowing they have words to say before their parting.
"Turner..." Norrington pauses for a breath, then starts again, "Will. I've been granted more chances than is my due... I thank you. This one I will not waste." He seems about to say more but closes his mouth and glances away.
"Best of luck." Will inclines his head towards the Pearl from which he can now hear a handful of familiar voices. "Do you care to swim or should I call one of the crew to take you over?" Norrington's horrified expression answers that. Will feels a tiny smile grace his lips. "Very well, you should be on your way, I've work to do."
Norrington offers a slight bow before turning away. Will watches him until he reaches the main deck, then approaches the rail to stare across the small distance of sea separating him from the Pearl. His gaze skips over most of the crew, momentarily noting Gibbs and Cotton and Marty, Pintel and Raggetti – all portraying surprise and a little fear. For a moment he eyes Barbossa's dispassionate face – underneath the calm exterior, Will can tell the man is busy scheming and trying to fit this new situation into his plans. He catches a glimpse of Elizabeth before she slips behind the men – her love warms him, but her heartache and a sense of growing distance stings.
At the Pearl's helm there is one man who meets his gaze.
Will stares at the other captain and remembers how many questions he'd wanted to ask. There is much left unsaid between them, he knows, and now it will remain that way. After a while, Jack seems to gather himself together, adapting his familiar self-assured manner. The pirate swaggers to the railing and hollers, "No dead o'er here, mate!"
With effort Will is able to speak around the suffocating lump in his throat. "I've a delivery. There'd been a mistake." He indicates with his chin the man swimming away from the Dutchman. "I'm trusting you not to send him immediately back to me."
Despite the recognizable posture of the Pearl's captain, there's something strange about Jack. From this distance Will cannot see the other man's eyes clearly, but he can feel an emotional weight in that gaze and he aches with a sudden desire to understand. He fights against the urge to go to the other ship and demand that Jack explain everything—Why let Elizabeth distract him and leave him to sink? Why not attempt retribution for that? What had it been like in the Locker? What was his history with Beckett? Why pass up his chance at immortality? What was he thinking when Jones stabbed Will?
Why does it hurt more to look at you than it does when I look at her? he wonders. Will sucks in his breath, startled by the thought. The Dutchman murmurs that she can help him find the answers, but he's terrified to explore why losing Jack is more difficult to accept than leaving his wife.
Someone shouts Norrington's name in surprise and Will can tear himself away from Jack's hypnotizing stare. He looks to be sure the former commodore reaches the ship. As soon as the Pearl organizes to take the man aboard, Will turns to his crew and calls them to make ready. He's prepared to let the Dutchman set out right away for their next call, leaving the others once again with no goodbye. Fate seems not to want it that way.
"Will!" Jack's voice, not Elizabeth's. Reluctantly Will turns his head and is captured by the intent gaze. The pirate seems as startled as everyone else to have spoken. The crew on the Pearl have their eyes on the him, even Will's men stop and glance between the two captains.
Will knows he should say something, even if it's a simple farewell. The thought of silence between them reminds him of the long months without Jack – before Beckett's arrival and after the Pearl's sinking. If he missed the man then, he doesn't know how he will cope during the innumerable years ahead. This would be so much easier, he thinks, if removing the heart actually meant becoming numb. His ship moans sorrowfully beneath him, her worry washing over hims.
For a moment he's lost in the Dutchman's echo of remembered emotions from her previous captain. When Will's mind clears he finds himself staring into wide, dark eyes from a startlingly close distance. Stunned, he looks over his shoulder to see his father watching him from the Dutchman.
"Will..." Jack's voice is accompanied by a tentative touch. Will flinches away, knowing that physical contact will undo him. He meets the other man's stare and sees more than he wants to know.
Jesus. Don't do this to me!
Jack drops his hand and licks his lips. After a few failed attempts he says, "Goin' to shove off withou' even a wave?" The tone is falsely light, doing nothing to mask the emotions the pirate unwittingly projects.
Pushing through the dizzying whirl of the other man's inner thoughts, Will manages, "Alright. This is goodbye, then."
The dark eyes flash with wounded anger for a moment before a cool mask falls into place. Jack tilts his chin up and purses his lips for a moment, considering. "Hmm. See you're already gettin' used to the heartless thing." His hands dance in the air, motioning briefly to where his own heart is located. "I 'spect you'll be off doin' deathly guidin', then?" Will says nothing, too busy suppressing the sting in his chest. "Righ'. Hope I won't be seein' you too soon, mate." Jack's calm expression almost breaks at that. "Oh, and you're welcome, by the way."
Will feels all the words he could and should say jam in his throat. The easiest are, "Thank you." He murmurs the phrase and feels a combination of relief and sadness from Jack. In the back of his mind, Will can hear the souls needing guidance calling for him, but they are dim in comparison to the here and now. "I... Jack." He shuts his eyes against deep affection and heartache pushing him like a physical blow. "Damnit," he hisses quietly, "stop doing that!"
He opens his eyes to Jack's confused expression, watches it morph into a look of surprise as he moves closer, and then Will sees nothing but is keenly aware of physical sensation. Jack's facial hair scrapes his nose and chin as he presses his lips to Jack's. The pirate recovers quickly and responds, mouth open and hungry. There's a rush of desire and hope that Will can accept only for a few moments. He feels like sobbing when Jack lays his hands on Will's body.
You can't! Will jerks himself back, denying the unexpected surge of emotion. His skin burns where he'd touched moustache and beard, a small distraction when he knows he can't stay. He stares at Jack for a moment longer, then steps away, his next footfall landing on the Dutchman's deck.
Turning abruptly from the sight of the Pearl, he shouts, "Make sail!"
As the Dutchman reluctantly dives into the sea, he staggers against a pain that cuts deeper than Jones' blade. "Jack..." He allows the ship to wrap him in an embrace that provides a barrier against the rest of the world.
For days no one bothers him. Will calls out the occasional order, but the crew has been doing their task since before he crossed the Atlantic from England; they don't require much direction. Mostly he converses quietly with the ship and navigates the lost souls calling for help.
Inevitably the peace is broken. On the way to his cabin one night, Bootstrap catches up with him. Will allows the company halfheartedly and heads to the liquor cabinet instead of his bed. They sit across from one another at a table nestled into a niche close to the organ dominating the far end of the room. Bootstrap accepts the glass of rum but doesn't drink until Will has filled his own.
Will waits silently, refusing to prompt the conversation. Eventually Bootstrap relents.
"Was 'e why you didn't say goodbye?" Will snorts. His father continues, "I didn't know. You only talked 'bout Elizabeth."
Swallowing the remaining contents of his glass, Will can avoid answering for a few moments. He pours more rum with a scornful twist of his lips. "That's because there's only been Elizabeth." He lifts his glass in a mock salute to his naiveté and meets his father's gaze. "For nearly a decade I could only dream of her. She drove away the nightmares of a storm and a ship with tattered black sails. I enjoyed my work, the town was friendly enough, and I could look up the hill to the governor's house – and there sat my dream. What more could I want?"
Bootstrap watches him wearily, eyes full of remorse. Will fights the urge to shout that there is nothing to mourn; he doesn't long for those days, he feels mortified to remember how oblivious and blindly love-struck he'd been. "I understood nothing of the world before Port Royale was attacked. The governor saw that I received a few years of education before I began my full apprenticeship, but words on a page... If I read about the Dutchman, do you think I could actually believe it? I never lived," he confesses quietly, staring into his glass. "Circumstances led me to make arrangements with pirates. I didn't like Jack, but I didn't not like him, either."
"Slipperier than a mermaid," Bootstrap says with a slight smile.
"Every time I thought he'd given me up, he'd turn around and prove me wrong. I trusted him, decided I owed him his life for saving Elizabeth's and my own." The burn of old anger turns his stomach. "So when we next met I trusted him when he sent me to Jones." Will's fingers tighten around his glass. "I ignored my instincts warning of the danger. I truly believed that if anything were to happen, he'd bring me out of it." He chuckles weakly, using bitterness to cover the pain.
Bootstrap stares into his rum. "Many a desperate man lookin' to hold off death done plenty o' reckless things."
Will takes a long drink. "Women, too." Anger flares again, this time at someone else. "She killed him. Elizabeth bound him to the mast so he couldn't escape. And the kraken..." He remembers all too clearly the stench of burnt tentacles and dead men surrounding him. The air had been thick with death. He closes his eyes and can see the two people he considers most important kissing. Knowing the truth, he can now imagine how Elizabeth's hands roamed lower and her body pressed in; Jack backed up, one hand behind him for balance before they hit the mast.
"We changed. I began to truly see the world when I watched Jack waiting for the hangman's noose. The events Beckett set into motion confirmed it was time to look around."
"What did you find?"
He thinks about his desperate search for Jack after the interrupted wedding. He remembers the frustrated affection that had followed him during that time, even when he'd woken trussed up and hanging from a pole. The strange thump sound of Jones' walk lingers in his mind, and he recalls the chill that made his spine tingle when he first heard it. His back stings with remembered pain even as his mind jumps ahead to gaining the key and watching the kraken devour a ship from beneath his feet. On an isolated strip of land he'd dueled two men in attempts of claiming a mythical heart, only to discover later that his own had been misplaced when Jones' went missing. The memory of traveling upriver to Tia Dalma's overwhelms him for a moment with the hundreds of candles and mournful faces. He sees a flash of Elizabeth's pale, guilty face before Barbossa descended the stairs. He remembers the arguments and planning, the long trip to Singapore, and even more arguing—
"Will?" The captain pulls away from the memories with an effort. Bootstrap's aged face is full of concern. "Lad, what's on your mind?"
It's not so much what's in his mind that disturbs him. The source is not a thought or idea. The moment Jack touched him, Will felt it all – a turmoil of emotions with an intensity he didn't expect. Even now the particularly strong emotions continue to haunt him. He isn't ready to explain his discovery.
The scenery of his dream changes, melting away to reveal his cabin. Will sits up and peers into dark shadows, sensing he is not alone. A candle flickers to life near the organ and its light illuminates Tia Dalma sitting on the bench. She cups the flame in her hands and lifts it to her lips. With a gentle blow, the other candles scattered around the room ignite. Apparently satisfied, Tia smiles at him. The fingers of one hand caress the ivory keys.
"Dere's chaos in dat heart of yours." She presses one of the keys and a mournful note fills the air. "De Duchess, she ache wid you. Feel her?" He nods. Her expression gentles as she stands. "My William. So much love in him heart. Dey reach for dat, knowin' you'll understand." She glides closer to stand beside his bed.
"Understand what? Their pain? I don't need to feel in order to—"
"Shh." Tia rests her fingers against his lips. "No' forever. You will learn 'ow to block some t'ings." She removes her fingers from his lips in favor of stroking his hair. "Dest'ny be cruel to you."
Will offers a faint smile. "Seems pointless to argue what's already been established."
Tia kisses his forehead and Will closes his eyes as calm washes over him. "I know you fear de pain. You mus'nt hide from id, else suffer me Davy's fate."
Eyes still closed, Will whispers, "Please, make it go away."
"I ken't, William." She cradles his head in her arms and kisses his cheek. "Bu' if you ken gid rid of some worry, de pain ken lessen." Her voice resonates with power. "Search your heart 'n accept ids desires."
He leans into her, for a moment able to pretend that the woman holding him is Elizabeth. He wishes the fantasy actually provided comfort.
"Whad do you wan', Cap'tan?" Tia eases him onto his back, her hand brushing over his face as she murmurs something in a foreign tongue. Her hair falls forward, teasing the skin of his throat. Though he doesn't understand her words, he can feel their effect. The Dutchman calls to him, opening her arms as the song of the sea grows louder in his ears. Another voice begins to speak, much softer than the others as if from a great distance.
"De ships always know dere cap'tans," Tia whispers.
The Dutchman urges him to reach for the other's call, listen carefully for the faraway ship. Although he's afraid, he lets his ship guide him. The ocean is full of voices – lost souls, living spirits, other ships, and all of nature's creatures. He's brought up short by the siren call of the Black Pearl.
The Pearl greets him eagerly, projecting relief and joy at his presence. Her song is little more intelligible than her captain's emotions that continue to haunt Will. The Dutchman intervenes to calm the flood of images and feelings. Almost like a human, Pearl seems to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. When she tries again, Will can feel wind against his skin and smooth wood beneath his feet.
Standing at the Pearl's helm, Jack Sparrow leans into the ship. Will can feel the other man reaching out to his ship, seeking her support and guidance. The pirate's gaze is locked on the horizon where the sun's earliest rays have appeared. A frown decorates his lips and his hands seem to rest listlessly on the wheel pegs. Will hangs back despite both ships urging him to step forward.
No, he thinks. Please don't. I can't do this—I'm not ready.
Jack reacts at the Pearl's sorrowful moan. "Wha' is it, luv?" He strokes the wheel lovingly. "Don't fret 'bout ol' Jack. 'Aven't we fared worse weather?" The smile that touches his face is far from confident. He takes a deep breath and Will feels the other's emotions wash out in the exhale.
Closing his eyes, Will swallows back his own feelings that threaten to respond. I don't want to know this. Why are you punishing me?
The Dutchman whispers that he is not being punished; Will can't quite believe her when the Pearl begins to weep quietly. He watches as Jack's frown deepens with concern.
"You're worryin' me, luv. Come now, tell us wha's about."
Pearl abruptly shoves Will violently away. The Dutchman's invisible hands run over his body to ensure he's unharmed. He awakes and lays shuddering in his bed, gut twisting painfully at the raw emotions Pearl left him.
His ship rocks unsteadily in reaction to his mood. He's suddenly angry – with himself for listening to the strange whisperings of ship spirits; at Tia for suggesting he still has a heart to heed; at the Pearl for dumping him with a storm of emotions; and with Jack for the agony he instigated.
In the back of his mind he hears Tia telling him not to blame Jack. Will finds it easier to ignore her.
He rises from bed, determinedly ignoring the lingering shivers and haunting echoes of the Pearl. The Dutchman groans as he storms from the cabin on the way to the helm. She doesn't fight her captain when he directs her to press on with their work.
January 30, 2008 – February 11, 2008