Disclaimer - They belong to Disney. Damn it all.
"Breaking the Bootstraps"
Time rests heavily more heavily on the hands of certain people. For example, when one hurled out of a ship and plunged to the very bottom the near-endless depths of the ocean, and unable to perish, there isn't very much else to do but think. So Bootstrap Bill Turner discovered a few hours into his unusual predicament, and it became the bane of his cursed existence.
It turned out that it was very dark at the bottom of the sea. Sometimes, at first, he could feel fish brush against him, but as time wore on, all feeling was lost to him. He wasn't sure why, but he was rather certain it had to do with the Curse. There was nothing to listen to, and no one to talk to anyway, of course, and so he was left to the wandering workings of his mind.
At first, Bill concentrated on his loathing for the mutinous crew of the Black Pearl. He dreamed rather fancifully of somehow heroically escaping the water and finding revenge. Concentrating on such thoughts, however, led to pondering about just how he got into this mess. And really, he began to feel more and more stupid about it. Taking the gold piece out and sending it to the lad back in London had done nothing to better the situation, and in fact only cursed himself. Anyway, he should've known that any denouncement of Barbossa would result in his end, and at least if he hadn't strove to teach them a lesson at the same time he'd be dead, not condemned to an eternity alone.
That's the problem with mortality, it seems. There's just not enough time to think things through properly.
So instead of the bad, Bill set his mind on the things that made him happy. Good, strong ale. Salt spray on his face. Fine, new stockings. His Kate back in London, and little William, neither of whom he'd been able to get to know very well. His old friend Jack Sparrow, who was probably dead on that island by now, the lucky bastard. These were things and people he longed for. And so he felt bad in a different way.
He turned from these thoughts to other regrets. If only he had given up the sea for his family's sake. If only he'd realized Barbossa's treachery in time. If only he hadn't drunk several pints of that good, strong ale the night he sent the gold piece to young William. If only.
These thoughts were what made up the entire existence of Bill Turner for unknown ages; he'd never attempted to keep track of time. He slowly resigned himself to his fate of an eternity spent in the past and what could have been.
There's a funny thing about being immortal, though. One's body stays intact, but clothing does not. And faced against the unseen and unfelt rigors of the ocean's currents and animals, Bill's clothing began to deteriorate. Eventually, the leather bootstraps that held him down too unraveled, freeing him. Bill was so used to not moving at all, however, that several weeks went by before it dawned on him that he could now go.
Eagerly, he did so. Walking in the random direction he was facing, Bill began a slow trek to anywhere. The joy he felt at such a simple thing as walking was endless; he appreciated it now, just as he appreciated the gradual return of sight. As water became shallower, the lights of the sun and moon could break through to him. Even the sight of his skeleton body at midnight was welcome now, and if he had been able to, Bill would've whistled some cheery tune.
He knew that some shore was not far off, when one night he began to choke on the salty waters of the ocean. Instinct took over reason, and he struggled to the surface, gasping for breath. Moonlight washed over him along with the waves, and he could see flesh-covered hands before his eyes instead of bones.
The Curse had been lifted, though he didn't know how; none of them had been to clear on just how to do so when he'd been cast into the sea. He would've cried with happiness then and there, except now he had to worry about dying again. Instead, he waited until he washed ashore within sight of the white cliffs of Dover. Then, Bill wept.
Then there's a funny thing about being normal again after being virtually indestructible for so long - one doesn't take so much joy in constantly walking as before. Bill had to adjust, of course, but walk he did, and quite a while, all the way home, to London. He knew by now just how much time had gone by, and that people change over the years. Well, when they're not cursed, anyway. But he had to get to his Kate and William still, had to see the faces he'd dreamed about for so long.
"Oh, she's dead," a near-sighted old neighbor woman told him quite frankly when he finally arrived at his former address. "Died years and years ago. Right after, her boy sailed away, but we heard his boat was sunk."
After all those years of wishing to be dead, and the ones he'd wanted to live for had passed on instead. Bill wondered briefly if he's son death at sea had aided in ending the Curse. He felt even stupider for bringing such trouble on his child, and his mourning deepened.
London wasn't home without his woman and his son. The sea, the only ever home he'd ever known, had not included either of his kin, and so he retreated to that, taking refuge in waves that took him from one port to another.
Bill had been overjoyed when the Curse was lost to him, and now he longed to be stricken with it again. He missed his meager existence at the bottom of the ocean, where he could survive on his thoughts and his family could be alive to him again.
At least he had his good, strong ale again. It did a fine job of consoling him.
His mug was indeed consoling him one night in some New World colony of Spain when a astonishingly familiar face strolled into the pub. Time had aged him, yes, but Bill would have known that face anywhere.
"Jack Sparrow!" he cried joyfully, rising to his feet.
"That's Captain - " the other man started to sigh as he turned around, but stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes widened in shock. "Bootstrap?" he whispered.
Bill motioned him over, nodding.
"I thought you was dead," he stated. "They left you with that pistol. One bullet."
Jack touched the weapon fondly, which was carried in the sash around his waist.
"I thought you was dead," he replied. "In Davy Jones' locker. Lit'rally."
"How'd you live?"
"How'd you?"
And so some stories were shared.
"So, the Curse's been lifted," Bill confided after a few more pints.
"I've heard," Jack said casually.
"Don't do me any good, y'know," Bill sighed. "Kate and my boy bein' gone."
Jack watched him, unconventionally silent.
"And I guess Kate dyin' ain't so bad. She'd time to grow. But William...he was just a wee lad. And my only blood kin."
Bill finished his mug in one heavy gulp, eyes downcast.
"He hardly lived at all."
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, eyes fixed on some point to the left of his companion.
"Well...look here. If he'd lived, he'd been a good man, like you. Believin' in honor an' truth an' such. An' look what happened to you - the world just came an' swallowed you whole. Life chews you up an' spits you out, if you's a person like that, unless you got somebody who loves you enough to watch out for you."
Bill wiped at his eyes.
"I would've loved him enough to watch out for him."
"Yeah, well, there's no point in dwellin' on what's happened, savvy?" Jack stood and dropped some coins on the table. "I got to be gettin' back to my ship."
"Ship? You're a captain again?"
"Yeah...but you wouldn't know her. The ship, I mean."
Jack left the pub before anymore questions could be asked. Bill slumped in his chair and ordered another pint, though it was doubtful that even ale could console him, such a mood he was in.
"Good seein' you, Sparrow," he muttered.
^^^
At port, the Black Pearl was quiet, the crew all asleep or at least not raising a ruckus. Jack made no effort to mask the noises he made, despite the fact he knew he'd be in some sort of trouble for returning so late. Unabashedly, he strode into his quarters and began to disrobe.
The bed creaked as its occupant sat up, glaring at the captain.
"Where have you been?"
Jack carefully set down his hat and pistol, then pulled off his shirt.
"Just the pub, lovey. Nothing to ruffle your feathers over. Speakin' of which, whatever happened to that hat?"
"Please don't try to change the subject. Who were you with? You stink of rum, and you don't like to drink alone."
Jack glanced at his lover and smirked, unlacing his breeches so they fell to his feet.
"Just an old pirate chum, swappin' tales. Don't be jealous."
"I'm not jealous," was the response, though it lacked conviction.
"Course you are..." Jack laughed.
He went to the bed and drew back the blankets. With a sigh, he stretched out and made himself comfortable.
"An' so'm I," Jack continued softly, pulling Will Turner into a possessive embrace. "I want you all to myself."
^Fin^
"Breaking the Bootstraps"
Time rests heavily more heavily on the hands of certain people. For example, when one hurled out of a ship and plunged to the very bottom the near-endless depths of the ocean, and unable to perish, there isn't very much else to do but think. So Bootstrap Bill Turner discovered a few hours into his unusual predicament, and it became the bane of his cursed existence.
It turned out that it was very dark at the bottom of the sea. Sometimes, at first, he could feel fish brush against him, but as time wore on, all feeling was lost to him. He wasn't sure why, but he was rather certain it had to do with the Curse. There was nothing to listen to, and no one to talk to anyway, of course, and so he was left to the wandering workings of his mind.
At first, Bill concentrated on his loathing for the mutinous crew of the Black Pearl. He dreamed rather fancifully of somehow heroically escaping the water and finding revenge. Concentrating on such thoughts, however, led to pondering about just how he got into this mess. And really, he began to feel more and more stupid about it. Taking the gold piece out and sending it to the lad back in London had done nothing to better the situation, and in fact only cursed himself. Anyway, he should've known that any denouncement of Barbossa would result in his end, and at least if he hadn't strove to teach them a lesson at the same time he'd be dead, not condemned to an eternity alone.
That's the problem with mortality, it seems. There's just not enough time to think things through properly.
So instead of the bad, Bill set his mind on the things that made him happy. Good, strong ale. Salt spray on his face. Fine, new stockings. His Kate back in London, and little William, neither of whom he'd been able to get to know very well. His old friend Jack Sparrow, who was probably dead on that island by now, the lucky bastard. These were things and people he longed for. And so he felt bad in a different way.
He turned from these thoughts to other regrets. If only he had given up the sea for his family's sake. If only he'd realized Barbossa's treachery in time. If only he hadn't drunk several pints of that good, strong ale the night he sent the gold piece to young William. If only.
These thoughts were what made up the entire existence of Bill Turner for unknown ages; he'd never attempted to keep track of time. He slowly resigned himself to his fate of an eternity spent in the past and what could have been.
There's a funny thing about being immortal, though. One's body stays intact, but clothing does not. And faced against the unseen and unfelt rigors of the ocean's currents and animals, Bill's clothing began to deteriorate. Eventually, the leather bootstraps that held him down too unraveled, freeing him. Bill was so used to not moving at all, however, that several weeks went by before it dawned on him that he could now go.
Eagerly, he did so. Walking in the random direction he was facing, Bill began a slow trek to anywhere. The joy he felt at such a simple thing as walking was endless; he appreciated it now, just as he appreciated the gradual return of sight. As water became shallower, the lights of the sun and moon could break through to him. Even the sight of his skeleton body at midnight was welcome now, and if he had been able to, Bill would've whistled some cheery tune.
He knew that some shore was not far off, when one night he began to choke on the salty waters of the ocean. Instinct took over reason, and he struggled to the surface, gasping for breath. Moonlight washed over him along with the waves, and he could see flesh-covered hands before his eyes instead of bones.
The Curse had been lifted, though he didn't know how; none of them had been to clear on just how to do so when he'd been cast into the sea. He would've cried with happiness then and there, except now he had to worry about dying again. Instead, he waited until he washed ashore within sight of the white cliffs of Dover. Then, Bill wept.
Then there's a funny thing about being normal again after being virtually indestructible for so long - one doesn't take so much joy in constantly walking as before. Bill had to adjust, of course, but walk he did, and quite a while, all the way home, to London. He knew by now just how much time had gone by, and that people change over the years. Well, when they're not cursed, anyway. But he had to get to his Kate and William still, had to see the faces he'd dreamed about for so long.
"Oh, she's dead," a near-sighted old neighbor woman told him quite frankly when he finally arrived at his former address. "Died years and years ago. Right after, her boy sailed away, but we heard his boat was sunk."
After all those years of wishing to be dead, and the ones he'd wanted to live for had passed on instead. Bill wondered briefly if he's son death at sea had aided in ending the Curse. He felt even stupider for bringing such trouble on his child, and his mourning deepened.
London wasn't home without his woman and his son. The sea, the only ever home he'd ever known, had not included either of his kin, and so he retreated to that, taking refuge in waves that took him from one port to another.
Bill had been overjoyed when the Curse was lost to him, and now he longed to be stricken with it again. He missed his meager existence at the bottom of the ocean, where he could survive on his thoughts and his family could be alive to him again.
At least he had his good, strong ale again. It did a fine job of consoling him.
His mug was indeed consoling him one night in some New World colony of Spain when a astonishingly familiar face strolled into the pub. Time had aged him, yes, but Bill would have known that face anywhere.
"Jack Sparrow!" he cried joyfully, rising to his feet.
"That's Captain - " the other man started to sigh as he turned around, but stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes widened in shock. "Bootstrap?" he whispered.
Bill motioned him over, nodding.
"I thought you was dead," he stated. "They left you with that pistol. One bullet."
Jack touched the weapon fondly, which was carried in the sash around his waist.
"I thought you was dead," he replied. "In Davy Jones' locker. Lit'rally."
"How'd you live?"
"How'd you?"
And so some stories were shared.
"So, the Curse's been lifted," Bill confided after a few more pints.
"I've heard," Jack said casually.
"Don't do me any good, y'know," Bill sighed. "Kate and my boy bein' gone."
Jack watched him, unconventionally silent.
"And I guess Kate dyin' ain't so bad. She'd time to grow. But William...he was just a wee lad. And my only blood kin."
Bill finished his mug in one heavy gulp, eyes downcast.
"He hardly lived at all."
Jack drummed his fingers on the table, eyes fixed on some point to the left of his companion.
"Well...look here. If he'd lived, he'd been a good man, like you. Believin' in honor an' truth an' such. An' look what happened to you - the world just came an' swallowed you whole. Life chews you up an' spits you out, if you's a person like that, unless you got somebody who loves you enough to watch out for you."
Bill wiped at his eyes.
"I would've loved him enough to watch out for him."
"Yeah, well, there's no point in dwellin' on what's happened, savvy?" Jack stood and dropped some coins on the table. "I got to be gettin' back to my ship."
"Ship? You're a captain again?"
"Yeah...but you wouldn't know her. The ship, I mean."
Jack left the pub before anymore questions could be asked. Bill slumped in his chair and ordered another pint, though it was doubtful that even ale could console him, such a mood he was in.
"Good seein' you, Sparrow," he muttered.
^^^
At port, the Black Pearl was quiet, the crew all asleep or at least not raising a ruckus. Jack made no effort to mask the noises he made, despite the fact he knew he'd be in some sort of trouble for returning so late. Unabashedly, he strode into his quarters and began to disrobe.
The bed creaked as its occupant sat up, glaring at the captain.
"Where have you been?"
Jack carefully set down his hat and pistol, then pulled off his shirt.
"Just the pub, lovey. Nothing to ruffle your feathers over. Speakin' of which, whatever happened to that hat?"
"Please don't try to change the subject. Who were you with? You stink of rum, and you don't like to drink alone."
Jack glanced at his lover and smirked, unlacing his breeches so they fell to his feet.
"Just an old pirate chum, swappin' tales. Don't be jealous."
"I'm not jealous," was the response, though it lacked conviction.
"Course you are..." Jack laughed.
He went to the bed and drew back the blankets. With a sigh, he stretched out and made himself comfortable.
"An' so'm I," Jack continued softly, pulling Will Turner into a possessive embrace. "I want you all to myself."
^Fin^