Jack searched for answers in the endless pitch-black sky, his dinner barely touched, not having much of an appetite that evening. He spent the day as usual, doing upkeep on his and Etta's latest living structure, sorting out meals, and making time to teach Etta lessons during the in-between moments. This was the kind of day that left him near-empty, not much of himself remaining by sundown. Etta was growing older and, well, so was he. Her nine years amazed him. He didn't want to think on counting his own.
Etta extended her hand to Jack, offering to take his plate. "Are you done?" He made to hand it to her. "Ah, check again," she told him when seeing a fair amount of food left, spoken in the same tone he would when she picked over her food.
"Who's taking care of who?" Jack gave her a flash of a smile.
Etta smiled back then plucked up the book from her spot at the fire, tucking it under her arm before lighting a lantern. "I'm turning in for the night."
"Don't read too long, love. You need your winks." Jack ruffled Etta's hair and she waved him off with a smile.
"I won't, Uncle Jack. Promise."
With that, she left, and he was alone. Jack turned over Etta's soon-approaching meeting with Will in his mind. He knew since Etta was small that the reunion would eventually happen, Will's heart calling him to her once he reached the milestone of ten years at sea. Selfishly, Jack wondered where he would belong once Will's tie to the Flying Dutchman was righted, once all was said and done. He wondered if he could eradicate the animosity between himself and William once and for all by showing how much he cared for Will's daughter, raising her as his own. Jack stopped searching for answers and, instead, for simpler times in the star-filled sky.
.
"Oi, look. Look it. Look it." Jack pointed to the horizon line, Etta on his lap. She was just starting to chatter, picking up on words here and there from parroting back Jack's. "Right where the sea kisses the sky—There is magic in that horizon, Henrietta."
Jack leaned back, his weight against his hands, and his pinky finger grazed the strap of the satchel that held Will's heart. Jack leaned forward, peering down at Etta.
"One day, you'll see a flash of green then, imagine that, out sails your daddy."
Etta clapped her hands and echoed Jack, the repeated word nearly melting his heart. He reminded himself the title was not his as he picked Etta up, turning her over in his arms to press a kiss to her cheek. Jack picked up the satchel and held it before his darling girl. Etta pressed her little hands against the leather and Jack wondered if seas away William felt their little nowhere island calling to him.
.
Jack stood at the waterside with Etta, aged nine and a quarter, his hand resting on her shoulder. The pair watched a green flash on the horizon line followed by a vessel that was unmistakably the Flying Dutchman nearing the island. Jack never expected this—him the man waiting ashore and the whelp the man about to step foot on land for the first time in years. It didn't make any sense, yet it made every bit of sense. They were both ever-changed, their paths linked and altered, perhaps even switched, ever since meeting in that lock-up over a decade ago. The meeting wasn't by chance, that he was certain of. Jack was never one to believe in fate in the past but the events that transpired in what he hoped was only the middle, not the near-end, of his lifespan had him rethinking that point.
Will looked every bit the hero hanging from the shroud of the ship and of course he did, Jack reasoned, only a natural look for him. Etta's grip on the satchel grew tighter as she leaned into Jack's side, hugging an arm around his middle. Jack looked down at his—William's—darling girl then to where her natural father descended from the ship.
Will was directly drawn to Etta who held his heart. His hands covered his mouth at the sight of her, his girl he never met, so grown already. Will fell to one knee just as Etta neared him after running as quickly as her feet could carry her to embrace her father as soon as possible, to not wait one moment longer. She already waited her entire lifetime.
Jack was familiar with hearing Etta's high shallow gasps but he wasn't prepared for Will's unconcealed sobs, amassed over years of waiting, years of hoping to meet his daughter and for her safety in his absence. Jack looked around for a bit, trying to avoid witnessing the moment. There was something about seeing another man cry, especially so soon after his own first tearful moment in years just before Will's arrival when he relented, calling Etta "daughter." Jack squared his jaw and denied the secondhand sentimental nature of the exchange. It was too intense. Anyway, this wasn't his moment. It was Will's.
"A girl," Will said, breathless and disbelieving, his eyes still closed shut and his forehead leaning against Etta's. "A perfect, perfect girl." He leaned back, framing his daughter's face in his hands. "What are you called, dear girl? My dear girl?"
"Henrietta," she answered, wiping tears from her eyes and offering a wavering smile as she worked to compose herself. "But Jack calls me 'Etta.'" She looked over her shoulder at the man who raised her and raised her well.
Will looked up then stood, his eyes taking in the man he knew, although his memories didn't match up with the sight before him, so different now. "Jack."
Jack's mouth pulled to the side, unsure how to greet Will. He settled on the easiest, a near-apologetic smile. They didn't end on the best terms there, in a series of events now muddled from years of separation, but it was nothing personal—a pirate's life.
"Hi, old friend."
"And Jack—he is taking good care of you?" Will directed the words, barely even a question, at Etta but he kept looking to Jack, a knowing light in his eyes.
"Of course!" She smiled up at her father and took his hand. "Jack tells the best stories and he's a wonderful listener and he even started teaching me how to swordfight! Well, he only lets me use sticks for now, but maybe if I practice enough I might have a go with a real sword one day." Etta's voice was filled with wonder at the thought and Jack felt pride warm his chest.
"Well, it sounds like I couldn't ask for a better friend to look after you," Will said, his eyes shifting away from Jack back to Etta, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What do you say we all have a proper breakfast? I haven't gone out for a meal in a while," he said, off-hand, as if he was only off land for a day or two.
"On you, I hope," Jack chimed in, teasing, swaying a little to communicate the good nature behind the words. His hands were behind his back, fidgeting. All these years, and he never prepared for how this would go. Jack had to admit, he was nervous.
Will shook his head, talking through a quiet laugh. "Haven't changed a bit, Jack."
.
Reasonably so, Will was focused on Etta for the entirety of breakfast, asking her all sorts of questions but whenever he would share a glance over, it unnerved Jack that those were Etta's exact eyes. This softened William to Jack in a way he was never softened before, not even after knowing he was Bill's boy. It unearthed a distant, now unfamiliar guilt in Jack's heart, and he didn't like it one bit.
Once they finished eating and Jack made to pay, insisting, Etta piped up excitedly to the woman behind the counter.
"Can you believe it? I get to spend a day with both of my fathers!" Etta reached for Will's hand on her right and Jack's on her left, tugging at them lovingly. Jack's eyebrows drew together, drawing his hand still gripped by Etta's slightly away from hers holding her natural father's. Will cleared his throat to fill the overwhelming silence.
Jack took the change from the woman who was careful not to touch his hand. Before they left, Jack held up both of his index fingers, capturing the woman's attention to offer a quick aside of explanation.
"I know I have child-bearing hips but the girl didn't come out of here, I assure you that," he muttered, making a show to circle his index finger in the air, pointing below the belt. The woman's stone-like expression didn't change and he offered a closed-mouth smile and awkward hum before slipping out the door to follow Henrietta and William.
Etta was walking hand-in-hand with Will and she looked back at Jack, radiating joy as she always did, but she was especially bright that day. Etta seemed ready to reach for Jack's hand but he patted her on the head before she had the chance then walked with his hands on his hips, following behind in a lazy gait. Jack wasn't sure he could stomach another judgmental glare momentarily souring the day. This was Will's one day ashore. The man deserved One Good Day.
And One Good Day Will had, getting to know his daughter, living in each shared moment to the fullest. Jack took on the role of a shadow that day, an ever-present smile on his face because there was an ever-present smile on Etta's.
Once they sailed a short trip back to their latest island—in one of Jack's more sentimental moments deciding on the island he raised Etta most of her first year—the three found themselves around a fire. Jack was sure to make a performatively sour comment to Will about not turning him into a "kept man" and Will was unable to fight off a laugh and drew his hand over his face.
Etta was looking up at the sky, resting across Will's lap as she recounted the pirate mythology Jack instilled in her as a little girl. Will was hanging onto her every word, committing to memory the lilting sound of her voice, her smile—Elizabeth's smile—and the freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks to carry back aboard with him to the Dutchman. Etta's arms were waving animatedly in front of her, pointing out different stars in the sky and going on about which belonged to which pirate spirit. While Jack might have assured to teach her to speak clear and crisp so she would sound every bit like Elizabeth, some of her mannerisms were every bit like him.
"Although they can lay anchor and slide down a line, should they wish, the spirits can't step a foot on land or they would 'drown.' Imagine, 'drowning' on land," Etta finished her retelling with a short laugh, looking rather proud of herself for recounting it all. She turned to look at Jack. "Jack, won't you tell us a story?"
Sounding so wistful and leaning against Will, it was one of those moments when Elizabeth seemed to speak so clearly through the afterlife, through her daughter. The image of Henrietta and William together, finally reunited, was too brilliant a sight. Jack never wanted to forget it. He burned the image into the back of his mind and tried to force away feelings. He didn't need Will seeing he had those things, dreadful things.
"Don't you think it's only fair William tell the story, seeing as I always tell them and you just told yours, missy?"
"Yes, please!" Etta insisted, leaning forward, her eyes alight at the idea. "About mother," she suggested in a whisper, looking to Will. "Please, Will. Father," she corrected, placing a hand on his arm.
Will worked to find the right words then poured into the story with ease. He spoke of meeting Elizabeth, rescued from a ship wreckage as a boy. He spoke of taking the long way around town to speak to Elizabeth through the gate until she was called away by her governess. He spoke of Elizabeth's wit and her beauty and, most importantly, her fearlessness. Etta leaned forward, nearly holding her breath, and Jack found himself listening just as intently. Jack tucked away those shared memories to that special place in the corners of his mind that helped Elizabeth live on in a way through him, he who would do anything to bring her back to the land of the living in a heartbeat. For Etta, for Will, and admittedly for himself.
Etta then asked for pirate stories. Will and Jack went back-and-forth on recalling memories and Jack acted affronted when Will slipped in some comments that showed him in not the best light, but he rolled his eyes and waved Will off with smile. After all, everything shared was true. They went on and on until Etta looked like she could barely keep her eyes, now nestled into Jack's side.
"It's off to bed with you, Darling," Jack murmured, brushing some of Etta's hair from her face. "You're nearly off to dreamland already."
"No, I'm not. I'm not tired in," Etta spoke through a yawn, contradicting her words, "the slightest."
"Listen to Jack, Etta."
Jack and Will met eyes and, in that moment, he could have laughed for Jack found himself in probably the most unexpected turn of events of all: co-parenting with Will Turner.
Will stood then sat next to Etta instead of across from her.
"Henrietta, you carried my heart for years. You knew it all along. Today was the brightest day. Know I am with you always and you with me. Even seas away, tides apart, you help me go forward, go on."
Etta used the last of the day's energy to draw in close to Will, her arms holding onto his neck tightly.
"You're even better than you are in my dreams," Etta said, barely loud enough to hear on the sea breeze.
"I love you," the pair whispered softly in time.
With those three words, it was as if a spell was lifted and the weight of reality settled back in.
Will lowered his hand from cradling the back of Etta's head and the other from embracing her close. He then helped Etta to her feet. "Off to bed with you," Will echoed Jack's words, looking over to Jack as if for approval of some sort to bid Etta goodnight.
Jack waved Will off, finding it ridiculous to even do so, as if he should have a say in Will spending time with his own daughter. As Will and Etta walked to the dwelling place made of earth, Jack closed his eyes and sighed to himself, not sure if he should curse Will and Elizabeth or thank them. Those two gave him a sense of family, the kind that could cause a person to care so deeply and, on the other side of the coin, ache so deeply as well.
.
Once Will tucked Etta in and most certainly shared a precious goodbye, he returned to the beach, sitting next to Jack before the ocean. Jack wordlessly offered a bottle of rum to Will, already a quarter empty, then rushed to break the silence.
"You've done the unthinkable." Before going on, Jack waited for Will to lower the drink from his mouth and turn to face him expectantly. "First eunuch to produce a child. Congratulations."
Will unsuccessfully fought off a smile then gave Jack a shove that he returned. The two wrestled around a bit by the shoulders, accompanied by their own laughter and the steady push and pull of the tide. When they both came down, shoving hair from their eyes, Will returned the drink to Jack. He took a swig, placed the bottle between them, then schooled his expression.
"William," Jack started, letting the name hang on the air for a moment while he gathered his thoughts, "I'm still working on how to free you—"
Will held up a hand. "I don't want to have my mind on the Dutchman again just yet. I have a few hours left of my own, entirely my own."
Jack nodded then faced the ocean again, trying to disregard the fact those very waves would soon carry Will into the horizon once again, away from Etta. Hell, away from him. Jack missed shared moments with someone closer to his own years and, admittedly, the ability to let go of the weight as sole caretaker for the day was a long overdue relief.
"You've done the unthinkable," Will said, turning Jack's statement back onto him. "You traded your 'Captain' title for 'Father.'"
"Good trade." Jack looked to Will, wearing a smile. He rushed to add, "But no, I… I insist she not call me that. I'm 'Uncle Jack' to her, out of respect to you."
"Alright. Perhaps you don't let her name it, but you're her father too. I see it. In how you two interact. In,"—Will wore a thoughtful expression—"in her."
Etta was like him, wasn't she? Jack never gave that much thought. He couldn't fathom that such pureness, such goodness could ever be his likeness.
Will gave Jack a weighted look. "You've done right by her. Thank you."
Jack crossed his arms, resting them against his knees, returning his gaze to the seawater. "Did what any man should do."
"But you didn't have to. Thank you." Will looked up to the sky then reached for the bottle, speaking around the rim before taking a drink. "There's more to thank you for, Jack. I saw Elizabeth."
"You did?" Jack couldn't keep the relief from his voice, but there was also wonder in the breath of a question. Curious, how the afterlife worked. Jack expected to feel that all-too familiar feeling of jealousy stirring in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't. He felt a sense of pride in playing the role of joining the Will and Elizabeth together once more, even if in a glimmer of a moment, a flash of sunlight on an expanse of dark waters.
"You gave her a proper sendoff. Fit for a King," Will said, and Jack mirrored his soft smile. "She was ever so grateful for that sendoff. She told me she bore a child, but of course she didn't know—didn't get the chance to know Etta." Will took another drink and his eyes shown with astonishment. "She's so like her."
Will handed the bottle to Jack.
"I know. It's maddening." Jack pulled a face then took a swig of rum. "Wonderful," he was quick to correct, although both statements were true.
"I'm sure Etta gives you hell time-to-time."
"Oh, you don't know the half of it."
Will's words stirred memories of Etta's more recalcitrant moments, like when Jack had to pick her up by the middle, kicking and screaming, from a stand of smallswords in Port Royal when she was five after she tried to hold one, nearly hurting herself. Jack couldn't be too upset with her, however, noting her eyes full of wonderment before her snatched her away.
"I always knew you were a good man, Jack, but you're a changed man now. She's made you selfless, you know that?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Jack feigned offense, his hand raised to his chest, then turned serious. "No, I'm," Jack paused, thoughtfully palming at the back of his neck, "reminded of that every day. She's good for me," Jack finished, plain and simple, his words followed by an absentminded smile. "It's terrifying," he said, voice low, "how much you can care for one person."
"I know the feeling."
Jack imagined Elizabeth then as if a ghost on the water, all wild hair and fiery spirit.
He offered the bottle to Will who took it and drained the last remnants. The pair sat comfortably in a stretch of silence.
"I'm still working on how to free you," Jack repeated with a tenderness in his voice in place of the defensiveness the phrase held at the start of their conversation.
"You poured every bit of yourself into caring for Etta. That is all I could ever ask for." Will cast the bottle aside then clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder. "I trust you, Jack."
Jack's eyes dropped down to Will's hand and he decided Will's words held too much weight so, naturally, he felt called to break the moment with a bit of frivolity.
"This isn't the part where you kiss me is it?"
Will threw his head back in that right and honest laugh only men with the "hero" title have. Jack gave Will another shove then crossed his arms across his knees once more. He burrowed his head into his arms to hide the sentimental look no doubt on his face. Jack marveled at how a single conversation over drink could grant a man a brother.
.
Jack shared whatever he could with Will in his remaining moments on land but mostly stories and silence. When the time came for Will to return to the Dutchman, Etta ran back to the beach as if stirred awake by her soul tie to her father. She stood by Jack's side once again.
"Thank you for holding onto this even before knowing me," Will murmured, gently tugging at the strap of the satchel around Etta after embracing her one last time. He tipped up Etta's chin and brushed away tears when she couldn't help but cry.
Just like that, Will left seemingly as soon as he came. A flash of green then gone. When Etta asked Jack why the world wouldn't give in and let Will stay when they both wanted him to so strongly, his silence was her answer.
That night, Jack woke to Etta's quiet crying. She was choking back sobs, trying not to wake him. Jack pulled her close and Etta instantly leaned her weight into the embrace, shaking uncontrollably. He didn't work a conversation out of her or tell her things were alright, just held her, knowing what it feels to lead a life as a child missing a father.
A few days later, Jack and Etta sailed back to Port Royal, both looking at the horizon a little different, a little longing. If one caught the other doing so, comfort came soon after in the form of a fleeting smile.
After docking the sloop, Jack took Etta's hands into his own then poured out a few coins and nodded his head towards the stands. Her eyes lit up and she hugged him then rushed away to search for what to buy. Probably a new book, Jack reasoned.
Jack crossed his arms and kept a watchful eye on Etta from afar.
"I'm in the market for a compass. Are you willing to make trade?"
Jack turned his head from where Etta stood nearby a stand of smallswords, stealing glances. His mouth turned up knowingly. Of course, distracted by weaponry although there was a perfectly good stand with supplies for needlepoint mere steps away. He wondered if she recalled her fit from childhood or if it was a memory lost to her, forgotten.
"You wouldn't want this one, mate. Doesn't point—" Jack's voice stilled with recognition at the sight of the man before him. "North." Not a moment later, Jack found himself in a welcomed hold he returned. He pulled back, all smiles. "Gibbs!"
When they stood there embracing too long for men in public, they both returned their arms to their sides in haste, looking away to clear their throats and adjust clothing—a shirt front, a vest, the kind of mundane searching men do to conceal true emotion.
"I barely recognized you." Gibbs looked him over. "Jack, you look terrible."
Jack pulled his mouth to the side, shaking a hand through his shoulder-length hair.
"Even so, what a sight for sore eyes. The seas weren't the same without you. Come, let's form a crew! We could—"
Jack held up a hand. "I don't sail with crews anymore."
"Only so long a man should go it alone before he starts to go," Gibbs voice trailed off and he crossed his eyes, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in a deranged expression.
"Not alone, mate."
Gibb's eyes followed Jack's to where Etta stood, ultimately ending up at a book stand as he thought.
"I never thought I'd see the day. Who's the mother?"
"She's the Turners' girl," Jack corrected.
"Ah." Gibbs nodded then his eyes lit up. "So we do need a crew! All band together to save Will, those left of us anyway—"
"No," Jack interjected then composed himself, his eyebrows drawing together in thought. "Don't you think it would be more meaningful for both the girl and Will if he's rescued by her? Once she's old enough?"
"I think Will would prefer the what over the how," Gibbs said then a knowing look washed over his features. "Oh, I see. But you don't mind the time spent with the girl as your own. You've gone soft, Jack."
"What?" Jack frowned. "I have not. I would slit your throat just now to prove it if I thought you deserved it."
"Father Jack Sparrow now, is it?"
Jack narrowed his eyes at how the question sounded near-condescending. "Awful close to deserving it there, Gibbs."
"It's a natural want, but if you loved the girl as much as you seem to, you would want her reunited with her natural father sooner than later."
Jack turned away from watching Etta to face Gibbs, knowing his words rang true. He sighed, having to finally own up to the truth of the matter.
"You're right. But I would want to go with you." A sudden thought came to Jack's mind. "Anamaria—Where is she these days?"
"Not sure where to place her, but I could find her," Gibbs offered, hopeful and supportive.
"Think she would watch after Etta?"
"As a favor to the girl, not you? Yes."
Jack remembered Anamaria's fierceness and he pulled a face but nodded, set on the idea. Nothing would happen to Etta under Anamaria's watch as long as they carefully crafted a reward for her, an exchange to use her ruthlessness for Etta's protection. Jack allowed himself a smile at the thought of the woman, her determined voice and passionate nature. Sure, he slighted her once again, leaving her with a cold bed and no ship once again, but he knew Anamaria was the type to know it wasn't personal. She would do the same to him if she beat him to it. They had a mutual understanding on that point.
"Return with Anamaria, a fit crew, a vessel, and we'll be set." Jack palmed at his chin, turning over the beginnings of the plan in his mind. "Honestly for the best, sooner than later, because Gibbs"—Jack ran a hand over his face—"I think I'm getting too old for this."
Gibbs clapped him on the back and they shared a laugh. Jack looked back to Etta, a tenderness washing over his face as she turned to him, meeting his eyes with her own, the same wide eyes that belonged to the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. As with each time he looked upon his daughter, Jack was completely and utterly undone.