Disclaimer: No mouse ears for me. No profit made, just a little fun.

A/N: OK, don't say I didn't warn you…

Wait For No Man

Chapter 4

Bloody hell.

Jack Sparrow - Captain Jack Sparrow, he emphasized mentally – sat curled on the stone bench in the holding cell of the Port Royal gaol. Jack, me lad, you've come a ruddy full circle. He scratched his neck thoughtfully. Nooses were circular. Ugh.

The watchtower clock chimed. Ten of the clock, and all's well. Unless you were sitting in a festering cell on moldy straw contemplating the gloomy but inescapable fact that come dawn your neck would stretch. And that for something you didn't even do. He smiled ruefully. All the things he'd gotten away with, to be brought down by a deed perpetrated by someone else.

His fingers itched. If he could get his hands on the son-of-a-whore who'd claimed his name, he'd show him the meaning of throttle.

But of all things marvelous in the world, what of the change in Norrington? Jack shook his head, still disbelieving. Scuppered his career, he had, and for naught but a twelve-hour stay of execution. Jack had no illusions that Edmund would come up with a lifesaving legal strategy. And he hoped to heaven (not that he communicated with the denizens of that particular locale often) that he'd see no sign of young Turner here. Breaking a man out of prison was one thing when you'd nothing to lose. Be damned if that tiny poppet of a Lizbet deserved to have her father in chains, however.

Uncle Captain Jack, she called him. He smiled. He'd a new tattoo to show the mite, a chick in a nest, with the legend Lizbet below. Sad that he'd not get the chance now.

"Hsssst!" A fully black-clad figure beckoned from the shadows outside the prison grate.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. His heart rose, his stomach sank. Damme if that wasn't the very shape of a young William behind that mask. "Is this wise, Turner? Not that I'm not grateful for the consideration, you understand."

The man seemed to hesitate. "You know me?" The mask muffled his voice, but not enough to fool Captain Jack Sparrow.

Jack chuckled. "And who else would it be?" He glanced behind the figure furtively. "If you've set your course, mate, I suggest you make it quick. Someone's coming."

The black-clad man looked over his shoulder and dodged lightly back into a shadowy nook. Jack waited, a-tingle inside, nonchalant outside.

The man descending the gaol stairs was preceded by his shadow, and then the man himself rounded the corner. He was dressed head to toe in black, his face obscured by a mask. Jack blinked.

"Popular, I am," he muttered half under his breath.

The second man grasped his mask and tugged it free, revealing…

"Will?" Jack furrowed his brow. "Then who – " A movement in the nook caught his eye; quick as a flash he was up and thrusting an arm through the barred cage, fisting his hand in Will's dark shirtfront and jerking him forward as a heavy fist whistled past the lad's noggin.

Will spun to meet his attacker, his back against the cell bars, shoving the other man away with his foot while pulling his sword from its scabbard. "Hold!" he hissed in a loud whisper, leveling the blade at the interloper's neck. The masked man froze.

Neither looking around nor wavering his blade, Will gave Jack the keys to the cell. "My thanks, mate," said the pirate, unlocking the cell door posthaste and, as an afterthought, tossing the keys out the cell window to the sea below. He joined his friend, dusting his hands together. "Now we'll see who our friend is."

Without further ado he strode to the business end of Will's sword and jerked the man's mask free, receiving the shock of his life.

"William?" In his bewilderment Jack forgot to whisper.

Both men answered. "Quiet!" They stared at each other, and Jack watched with interest as it dawned on each fellow: the similarities in their builds, their faces, their voices… young Will was indeed the spit and image of his father.

Will's sword lowered, though Jack thought it was likely more that he'd gone numb than a conscious decision. "F-father?"

Tears gathered in Bootstrap Bill's dark eyes. "Will, lad! I thought ye dead… thought that thrice-damned Barbossa must've had ye're blood, since he'd none o' mine."

A heavy footfall sounded outside; Jack placed an arm around both William's necks. "A lovely reunion, and we must catch up, I do see that, but here and now is not the place. Savvy?"

Will blinked and shook his head slightly, seeming to come back to himself. "Of course. Come on." He led the way deeper into the bowels of the gaol, gesturing to the other two that they should secrete themselves in a dark and musty inglenook. They complied, and not a moment too soon, as Jack's absence was noted and the hue and cry was raised. Jack looked at Will, meeting the lad's intelligent gaze; Will raised a finger to his lips with a nod. They could hear the troops being called out, could hear the rush of running feet as the guard assembled outside the gaol. Soon those sounds died away, and Will nodded to Jack. "Time to go."

The three men ran soft but sharp through ill-lit streets, following the guard until they reached the smithy. Smart, that was; the odds of the guard doubling back on itself were slim.

For a moment Jack expected they'd take shelter in the smithy, but Will merely paused, then set out across the field behind, toward the back end of Governor's Hill.

Lovely, thought Jack. Last place they'll look for me is up Norrington's arse. He grinned to himself. Though whatever was up there seems to have crawled out in recent days.

Ahead of them loomed stables in the dark; light was clearly visible through chinks in the warped and shrunken wood of the walls. Restive horses stomped and whickered within, attesting to their unusual wakefulness at this late hour. Will reached the door first and opened it, looking carefully inside before beckoning the other two men forward. Forward they went; the door closed behind them and the welcoming lights were quickly extinguished.

One lantern remained, far at the back of the stables. Jack wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell of horse and horse's byproduct.

Someone noticed. "I hardly think you're in a position to criticize," said Weston, emerging from the darkness like a wraith from the grave. "The Governor wishes me to make you unrecognizable. Come along."

Jack looked at his companions, but they were studying one another, oblivious to the devious machinations to which their friend and compadre was about, he felt sure, to be subjected. "Just what did you have in mind, mate?"

Weston pulled back a makeshift curtain that hung before one stall gate. Behind sat a large, steaming tub of foaming water. Jack narrowed his eyes at the secretary; Weston returned a tight smile. Jack sighed and began to disrobe, casting annoyed looks at the father and son, who were still ignoring his plight. A giggle from the dark behind the tub arrested his attention.

"What in blazes?"

Weston's smile grew marginally tighter. "His Lordship was aware of your reluctance to join the rest of the world in seeking godliness through cleanliness, so he was kind enough to search out some… incentive more appropriate to your desires. Ladies?"

Jack's own grin grew wide as the Caribbean as two comely wenches stepped forward, blushing and giggling as was proper in such maidenly loveliness. "Edmund went a-whoring for me?" He chuckled. "Greater love hath no man." He eagerly finished removing his shirt, snaking an arm around the waist of one of the wenches. "Come to help a poor old pirate, my lass?" She smacked at his hand with a high-pitched squeal and a giggle. Jack didn't mind. It was all part of the game.

The bucket of cold water that was upended abruptly over his head was a new and unwelcome twist. Jack shook his hair like a dog and glared at Weston. "What was that for? I was cooperatin'!"

Weston did something with his face that looked suspiciously to Jack as though he was trying to hide a smirk. "You've half an hour to be made presentable."

"Half an – " Jack looked at the wenches in dismay, then leaned closer to Weston, who flinched back while trying to look like he wasn't. "Come on, mate, have a heart. Give us an hour," he hissed. "Been at sea for three months, and in bloody gaol since. You wouldn't deny a starvin' man a bit of a snack, would you?"

"I always heard you pirate types had other ways to relieve your baser urges." Weston raised his nose haughtily – or maybe 'twas to avoid the smell of wet pirate. Jack had to admit he was a bit ripe.

"Other ways?" That was a bit of a poser. What was Master Undersized getting at? "You mean cabin boys and the like? What kind of man d'you think I am, mate?" Weston opened his mouth to reply, but Jack held up a finger. "Don't answer that. Half an hour it is."

~*~

"I always assumed you were dead," Will said quietly. He and his father sat on hay bales near the front of the stable. "They said they'd tied you to a cannon and sent you to the bottom of the sea."

"So they did, lad. But the curse had taken hold, by then, and so I could not die." Bill ran a hand over his face. "Seemed like a lifetime afore the ropes rotted enough that I could break free; 'twas five year or better when I finally got to a shore with a bit o' civilization on it." He sighed. "I'd sent ye the coin knowin' I was condemnin' the brotherhood to remain cursed, and so I still felt, fer what we done to Jack. 'Tweren't right, leavin' 'im to die on that godforsaken rock. I should've fought harder against it, but was overpowered and forced to join the mutineers. 'N then… well, 'n then ye know what they did to me."

Will shivered, imagining his father sinking through the murky water. "Why did you not come looking for me?"

Bill shrugged. "I was what I was, boy, 'n I'd no wish fer ye to see me like that. 'N then I awoke one mornin' an' I knew the curse were over. By then, see, I knew they needed me blood, so I stayed low. When the curse were ended I thought, 'They've gone an' killed my boy.'" He wiped a hand over his eyes. "Nearly did myself in that day from the guilt and grief of it, lad, an' that's the truth."

Will touched the older man's arm in sympathy. "I know."

Bill looked at his son. "Can ye fergive an old fool, lad? I never meant harm nor grief to come to ye. 'Tis a tricky business, the weighin' of one's conscience against the love of a child."

"Aye," said Will with the ghost of a smile. "That I know too."

"Never tell me I've a grandchild?" Bill stared as Will nodded. "Ye're nothin' but a lad yerself."

"I'm twenty-seven, Father, and widowed these four years. Your granddaughter's name is Elizabeth. Lizbet, as we call her."

"Ah." Bill nodded, then looked at his son again, his expression nervous. "Will ye – will ye let me know the lass? I'll not expect the rights of a grandfather, but I would like to see her, even if only once."

Will was affronted at the implication that he wouldn't welcome his father into his life, and touched by the older man's delicate consideration. He decided to tread the middle ground – after all, father or not, the man was a virtual stranger. "There's no hurry, Father. We've all the time in the world to work that out."

The sounds from the back of the stable finally penetrated Will's consciousness. What on earth was Jack doing back there? Weston had said something about a bath when he'd left to return to the mansion, but it sounded for all the world as though Jack – as though he were – Will blushed a deep and intense red. Good Lord.

Bill was snickering, Will noticed – but he was blushing just as deeply. The older man rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Some things don't change, I see."

"I suppose not –" The stable door crashed open before Will could finish his thought, blowing out the flame of the single lantern. The two men leapt to their feet, reflexively drawing weapons, ignoring the sounds of cursing and splashing that came from behind them.

Weston stood before them, panting hard, his face white in the moonlight, his eyes huge and dark. "The Governor…" he gasped, grasping Will by the upper arms, heedless of the sword Will rapidly dropped.

"What? What's happened?" Will shook the secretary. "Is it the guard?"

"No…" Weston swallowed. "There's been an attack… at the mansion…" He grasped his side, wincing; Will could see a dark stain spreading below his hand. "Pirates… the Governor… I think he's dead…"

Will went white. "Lizbet?"

Weston shook his head. "Gone…" With that he collapsed to the stable floor.