One Night

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* hey, look, it's more! And this chapter has a really big plot twist! Oh, and my lovely beta is back, so, this chapter is good. XD I just noticed, I have gotten through this entire fanfic without once describing Jack "sashaying" Woot! Let's see if I can keep it up! XD I love you all, please continue to review! *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Billy woke up, cold, scared, hungry, and alone. He didn't know where he was, but his hat was gone and that always bothered him. He wanted his mother. His body was battered, aching and he could see the ghostly purple of bruises forming. The floor was rocking, and he clutched at the wall. He shut his eyes. One small whimper escaped his throat. Even though he was Captain Sparrow's son, he was still only a boy. And a young one at that.

Then Billy remembered; the quarrel with his mother, the ships, the fighting. He had seen his idol, Captain Jack Sparrow. Even in that dark hour, the memory made him smile. His hero had rescued him from that horrible pirate, and had actually put his arm around Billy. Had been about to speak to him. But then the pirates had stolen him away. Billy punched the floor, succeeding in nothing but giving himself a sore hand. As he sucked on his fist, he looked at his surrounding. If he was trying to cheer himself up, he would have done better to have just kept looking at the floor.

It was dark, dank, and dirty. There was no light except for what came from the cracks in the ceiling and sides. The floor was curved, when he could see it through the filth. It smelled like dirty skin and rot. There was no food anywhere, and a bucket that may or may not have contained water. Billy really didn't want to see. He wasn't that thirsty yet. There was a bundle of rags in the corner, and Billy assumed it was a kind of bed. He sat on it. It growled and rolled over. Billy leapt off.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?

What Billy had taken to be a bed was now revealing itself as a man, as dirty and smelly as the floor. But as Billy was in the same condition himself, it really wasn't a correct assessment of the man's hygiene.

"Eh? They capturing babies, now?" the man pulled himself up. Billy stuck his chin out indignantly.

"I'm not a baby! I'm almost eleven years old!" Actually, Billy had turned ten less than a month ago, but the boy was proud of double digits and liked to pretend he was more secure in them. Eleven seemed a much more stable age than ten.

"Eleven? Well, I'm almost sixty. Do I look it?" He shoved his face so close to Billy that their noses touched. They both gasped and scrambled to opposite corners of the little cellar. "Jack!?" gasped the man.

"Father!?" cried Billy.

Cautiously, they approached each other. There was no doubt about it. This man's face was more lined, his hair had a touch of gray, his beard was fuller. But it was his father's face. Will's face.

"Who are you, boy?" said the man, squinting.

"Who're you?," he countered. He didn't trust this old man. Not yet. The man chuckled.

"I'd wager anything you're Jack's lad. Never thought I'd live to see the day. You're the spitting image of 'im. I was a great friend of your father's. Bill Turner, that's my name." Billy gasped. "But, that's my name!"

"Eh? What now?" The man- Bootstrap Bill, raised an eyebrow. "You're Bill Turner?"

"William Turner the Third!" cried Billy. "My father is William Turner, named for his father. You're not- you're not him, are you?"

Bootstrap looked strangely at Billy. "William Turner the Third, eh?" And then he did something even more shocking. Bootstrap reached out and pulled his grandson to his chest in a bone crunching embrace.

Jack was dozing in his grimy bed. His whole bedroom was covered in a layer of dust. This was mostly likely due to the fact that he hadn't actually slept there in a long, long time. His hat was pulled over his eyes, his limbs splayed out on the bed, his hands for once lying still. He didn't notice the lithe figure slip in and flip up beside him on the bed. Only when she pressed her head to his chest did he start, but by then it was too late. "Anamaria," he croaked groggily, surprised. What was she doing here? And then it dawned on him, and he smiled. "Couldn't keep away, eh, love?" "Shut up, Jack," she whispered, and then kissed him. Jack obliged willingly, and there was no more talking for quite some time.