Familiar footsteps stopped next to his outstretched foot some time later, but Jack remained beneath his hat, silently taking the easy, deep breaths of sleep. He'd had too many months to avail himself of any attraction toward Will Turner and his heartbeat would not be made to race like some debutante's at a mere presence. Jack Sparrow would remain the captain of legend, cool and assured and in charge of the conversation, which would start when he wanted it to.



He saw legs hunker before his hat was tipped up, dark eyes peering at him from a square face tilted sideways. "I thought mermaids were supposed to be green, or maybe blue," the smith broke the silence, the corners of his eyes crinkling.



Jack opened his mouth to speak, suddenly aware his pulse had kicked up, his nerves responded where a couple of fingertips lingered centimeters over his face … and was that sweat on his damn palms? Somewhere, the god Ares was having a good laugh over a mug of grog with Eros. Aphrodite was probably buying. *Yes, thank you immensely. Glad I could entertain, all,* Jack thought sourly. "What'd I tell ye 'bout touchin' me hat?" was all he could properly think to say.



"I don't see your sword drawn."



Oh, so much meaning laden into such words. *Out of the mouths of babes.* Impatiently, Jack reached up and swatted at the hand, and that finally broke the laugh loose from Will's chest as he stood and extended a hand toward the pirate. Jack studiously ignored it, climbing easily to his feet while straightening his battered tricorn hat. "Where's your master?" he asked, gesturing about with flicks of his long wrists.



Will stopped chuckling at that, shaking his head, hands on slim hips. "Died, four months ago. Alcohol poisoning, they think." He cocked his head pointedly at Jack.



"Now, now, ye've ne'er seen me passed out on upon a chair th' likes o' that fellow," Jack defended, holding up a forefinger to ward off the speech. "Though I'm sorry t' hear ye lost 'im. I 'member 'e meant a lot to ye." Will's dark eyes widened, and Jack could tell the smith was surprised he'd been listening to his babbling about his life aboard the Interceptor months ago, on their way to save Elizabeth. "So it's your shop now, is it?"



"His shingle's still on the door. His wife owns it, now." Will's pinched brow told much about business. He was still so young, and revealed too great a deal about himself, Jack reflected. *Not yet twenty.* "She's not wanting to sell to me; got a better offer from a glassblower putting into port in a few weeks." The young man sighed. "So why're you here, Jack?"



"Unfinished business, lad." Jack turned and picked up the satchel, setting it upon the brick hearth of the heatpan and pulling the laces open. He dug in and extracted a sizable skin of gold, one of three. Turning with a flourish he gave a slight bow and presented it to Will. "Mayhaps this'll change yon widow's mind?" he teased with a wink. "Go on, take it."



"What -- is it?" The smith accepted the bag, but arched a quizzical brow at Jack.



"Your share o' th' swag, mate. Have one for th' missy, too." He caught himself. "Or is it missus, now? Leastways, one for each o' ye. For helpin' me recover th' Pearl an' the *uncursed* treasure of Isle de Muerte. Should be squared up, now." It wasn't until he stopped talking that he noticed the slight fall in the man's expression, and he couldn't help rolling his eyes. "C'mon now, don' sniff at it; stuff's been hoarded there forever, not like ye robbed anyone o' it, mate. Neither'd I. Don' get all guilty on me."



"No." Will shook his head, but Jack noticed he wasn't trying to shove the skin back at him. He seemed lost in some other kind of thought. "Um … thanks, Jack. I guess."



"Not th' most enthusiastic response I'd 'oped for," the pirate teased. "Yer not gettin' a shillin' more, so don' think 'bout tryin' to negotiate." He turned and reached in for a second skin of gold as he talked. "Though I s'pose ye might convince th' lass to turn loose o' a few o' hers, seein' as she's already got enough from …" Jack trailed off as he turned back, his side to the smith when he noticed the long face. "Lad, what *is* it?" he asked, dropping his voice to a concerned hush.



"I- nothing." Will shook his head, turning to set his bag on a nearby workbench.



Jack didn't miss the tone of voice, and set the bag on the workbench next to its mate as he crossed the distance to Will's side. He said nothing at first, watching the smith in profile as he concentrated on something on the opposite wall. Finally, the pirate broke the silence. "Come on, let's get a bite. Unless ye've eaten?" He dropped his eyes, glancing at the man's thin frame, which seemed a little more gaunt than last time they'd seen one another. "I need me rum, in any case."



That earned a small grin, and Jack cuffed him in the arm. "Don' be so quick t' smirk. You're buyin', Baron Turner."