It's old Bootstrap's birthday…

Jack stood in the crow's nest, his hat-clad head barely visible amid the black sails. To the layman he would have appeared to be staring vacantly at nothing; however, the layman would have been sorely wrong, as most people were about Jack Sparrow. Arguably the only person who had really been right about Jack Sparrow had been Bill Turner, the one they called Bootstrap.

Few people knew the origin of that name. Jack Sparrow was one of them, of course; he had been privy to most things about Bill…

~*~

There was a boy on the raft- more a youth than a boy, about eighteen, unconscious. The water-soaked rags of clothing suitable to a middle-class apprentice lay strewn about the raft, ripped to shreds and not covering much of anything the boy might have wished them to, except the twisted planks of the raft he lay on. On one of his feet was the tattered remains of a boot, the strap shining clear in the morning light.

"Oi, mates- man overboard!" cried Captain Jack Sparrow, balancing precariously on the rigging.

"Man overboard! Man overboard!" echoed the crew, hauling up the pale youth.

"No use hauling 'im up, Cap'n," leered first mate Barbossa, giving the boy a cursory glance as he streamed water all over the deck. "That's just a dead weight."

Laughs went around the crew. Jack jumped down from his perch and swaggered over to the reedy naked boy lying prostrate before him.

"I don't think that's a corpse, my good man," he stated flatly, putting a beringed hand to his chin thoughtfully. He leaned forward, grabbing the boy's wrist. "There's a pulse."

"Well, that's all fine, but what're we going to do wiv 'im?" Barbossa asked, squatting next to Jack and lifting an eyebrow. "Can't cart around a little shrimp like this, wearin' only a bootstrap."

"Bootstrap. That's a pirate name," Jack announced, standing abruptly. "He's a pirate, he is." Leaning forward, he studied the boy's high-cheekboned face, his eyes large and ashy in the pale watery face. "And if he isn't, he'll be one soon enough."

~*~

William Turner. That's a fine strong name. Named for your father, I expect?

That same surprise on the boy's face as Bill's, years ago. I am Captain Jack Sparrow. Welcome to the Black Pearl, boy…

And then the grin. Beats the hell out of being an apprentice shoemaker.

Jack couldn't hide his grin. Annamaria, looking up from braiding rope and seeing the captain smiling away at nothing, shook her head dolefully at this apparent confirmation of his daftness.

Crazy as a loon, our Captain, she thought, and smiled her own smile as she bent her head once again over her task.

~*~

"Elizabeth," Will Turner said softly, calling his wife's name experimentally. Somehow it came easier to his lips this time.

"Yes, Will?" She turned to him, her hair half-up and half strewn across her face, her lips pushed out in that invitation unspoken but not unfelt.

"Did you mean it when you said you would marry a pirate?"

She smiled, that half-smile that half-lidded her eyes and made her look mysterious, almost more beautiful than before. The curtains were still drawn, falling on her face so that it made her hair look black- black…the color of Jack's hair. Will shook his head to clear it and the mirage was gone.

"Of course I did."

He took her hand. "Elizabeth, we- I-"

"We're going to join Jack?"

He smiled at her, feeling the warm pressure of her hand in his, still unused to the newness of the touch he had ached for since he had first met her, and nodded.

~*~

"We'll be at Tortuga in a month, Will." Jack grinned. "If ye change your mind and don't want t' settle down wiv li'l Turners scamperin' about like mosquitoes." He waved his hand about vaguely, then frowned. "Not that mosquitoes scamper, mind. But if they did, I'm sure it would resemble your children' s scamperin'. Your future children, that is."

"I'll think about it, Jack," Will replied, and shook the captain's hand once more, thinking of Elizabeth on the dock.

~*~

"Tortuga!" Elizabeth stood on the prow of the dinghy, feeling the sea wind in her hair. A tune half-forgotten but familiar ghosted through her head, and she began to hum it, smelling the salt of the sea.

Yo ho, yo ho…a pirate's life for me…

Will stood beside her, his mind not on her presence near him but far beyond, roaming the salty sea ahead until they pulled into shore. There in harbor was the Black Pearl, her sails billowing in the wind like memories flitting through his mind.

And on the prow stood a lone figure, lurching slightly in the wind, a spyglass fixed firmly to his hand.

~*~

Bootstrap Bill, then? The quick unsure grin, the scattering of freckles over the nose wrinkling slightly. That's my name?

Well ye can't go by Turner, can ye? Jack measured up his new crewman with a glance, as he had done many times before. Can't strike fear into the hearts of men far and wide wiv a name like that! Turner's for cobblers and blacksmiths and Navy men. Ye're a pirate, lad…

And speaking of Turners…

Will. Standing on the prow of the dinghy as Jack had half-expected he would be, the wind ruffling his hair and that same unsure smile on his face, staring at the Pearl with a mixture of bewildered worry and delight.