Title: Crimson Remembrance
Author: Yakkorat
Pairing: Jack/Will
Rating: PG. Maybe G. And someday I will finish the heavier stuff.
Summary: Five years after Jack's death, Will Turner reflects...
Beta: The endlessly talented Chrysanthemum
Disclaimer: They all belong to me! maniacal laughter sigh Time to check my meds again.
Dedication: To anyone who has ever held on to something that didn't belong to them because there was someone they just couldn't bear to let go.
Inspired by a grey camouflage bandana that still sits on the headboard of my bed. Miss you, love. So much. I wish you all the joy in the world.
Crimson Remembrance

It doesn't smell like you anymore. I never washed it, but the years have faded your scent away like morning mist. It hardly matters. I still wear it every day, that splash of crimson a severe contrast to the rest of my somber costume.

Oh yes, I wear a certain ensemble now that you would have either laughed at or loved if you were here. All black. Must project the proper image, you know. Not all of us can play the debonair pirate captain as effortlessly or as flawlessly as you could. My heart isn't in it, but for you, for the Pearl, I try to do it proud. As you well know, I am not a cruel man, and perhaps I offer a bit more quarter than even you would have liked, but I keep the men happy, and for the most part the Pearl as well. She misses you, Jack, though that should come as no surprise. We all do. The Caribbean is just not the same without you.

Lord Almighty. Captain Will Turner. Would you ever have believed it? After all the fuss I made about loving a pirate, not being one, it's nothing I ever expected. But Ana wouldn't take no for an answer. She said she appreciated your faith in her, but that she knew the Pearl was for me... said the old girl wouldn't sail as well for anyone who wasn't half sea-sprite like you and teased that in all our years together, you must have imbued me with some of your fey magic, even if you were 'stuffing it up my arse.' Well, she's never been a gentlewoman, Jack, and the blatancy of her speech ceased to shock me a very long time ago. And we needed her that way, didn't we, love? A captain needs a quartermaster who isn't afraid to tell him that his prick is in his ear, and she's never had problems with that. Blunt, honest to a fault, that's Ana. One of the men, despite the differing equipment. They would have followed her, had she chosen to hold onto the captaincy you left her, but Ana said she never wanted that responsibility. In the dark, though, I oft hear her whisper that the Pearl deserves to have someone at her helm who can understand her, and that only someone who has loved you as this bloody ship loved you - Ana's words, not mine - could claim to do that. So she's stayed on as quartermaster, ignoring the weakness she sees in her captain when she walks in on him sleeping and finds a familiar swath of red fabric curled around fingers that hold it to his cheek. I still sleep with it every night, Jack. It smells like me now, and that should please you.

God, five years you've been away from us now. Five years to the day. In all this time I've never talked to you, never asked for your help, never cried. I try every day to be worthy of the legacy you left me. But it's not enough. When I stand on the deck at night, clutching your sash to my breast and trying to make my peace with the ocean you loved, her cold wind whips at my fingers and tries to tear the cloth from my hands every time. The sea is ever merciless, demanding more from me, as if there's anything more to give. What else could she possibly ask? I gave her your body. I always knew she held your soul. The scarlet sash from your hair I get to keep, and if she's so desperate to have it back, she'll just have to wait until I bring it down to her. I know it's such a little thing, but I hold on tight to it, Jack. I hold on because sometimes, just sometimes, it's all I have left.

0000000000

It wasn't a letter. Not really. Will had just been sitting alone in the great cabin, drinking a bottle of rum to toast Jack's memory, twisting his fingers in the spare scarlet material that draped over his shoulder. He had been trying to gather the will to write to Elizabeth, as he often did, asking after her and the Commodore's gaggle of children who called him "Uncle Pirate" when he visited, much to Norrington's consternation. Elizabeth, he knew, would understand his sorrow, the keen feeling of loss that still split a chasm in his heart even after all these years. When he finally picked up the pen, however, this had come out instead. It poured from him, the words barely brushing his conscious mind before the pen was scratching them on the page. When he had finished, he rose from his seat, not even bothering to fold the pages. Up on deck all was quiet, and he moved with silent footsteps as far aft as he could go. He stood silently for a moment, the wind whipping the sheets in his hands as he held than up, offering them to the moon and the sea like some virgin sacrifice to the pagan gods of old. I love you, Jack, he said silently to the waves. I love you and I miss you and I'm coming home to you soon.

He brought the letter to his lips and laid a kiss on each page. Then he held them aloft again, and when the time was right, he released them. The breeze caught the two fluttering pages and carried them down to the glassy surface of the quiet Caribbean Sea. By the light of the full summer moon, Will watched the paper darken as it absorbed the water, as the ink ran off the pages, carrying his precious words down to the depths where his beloved pirate would be waiting for them. Where, someday, some time, Will would finally join him, and they would be together again.

FIN