Disclaimer: The usual stuff. I don't own anything. I'm a university student, I can't AFFORD to own anything. I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, anyone in it, or Walt Whitman. So don't sue me.

Note & Thanks: to all those reviews. It's prolly one of my favourite parts of writing fanfics! Since this is my first, everyone being very supportive is very helpful! Anyhow, I can only hope you enjoy this next chapter, which, I must admit I had a major amount of trouble writing, probably since it is a transition chapter, and I wasn't sure how to... put things. But it's moving now! So enjoy–


Part the Third:


If there was one thing that unnerved Jack, it was dry land. He didn't like how it always stayed the same under his feet, as opposed to the gentle rocking of the sea. It was strange, Jack mused, that this was the only thing he could think of on his dying day. He lay on the floor of his cell, looking up at the ceiling and at the little bit of sky he could see through the high window in the wall. The sun was rising, turning the sky a brilliant red.

"Red sky at night, Sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning." Who had first told him that, al those long years ago? Had it been his father? Jack didn't think so. He barely remembered his father. It must have been Bootstrap Bill, Jack figured. Bootstrap was always saying something strange like that, throwing in a piece of folk-lore here, a snippet of Sailor advice there. Jack shook his head. Why, after all these years, was he allowing himself to think about these things again?

Because you're going to die, Jack. Jack closed his eyes, blocking out the red sky. He was having internal conversations with himself now. If he hadn't been crazy before, he certainly was now. Death. It was coming. He had long since been prepared to face it. He wasn't afraid.

Then why do you keep trying to convince yourself of it? Jack wondered. Sitting up, he brushed off his clothes. His weapons had been taken away. But he had no need for them anymore. That one shot he had been saving was used. It had served his purpose. And so, perhaps, had he.

"Jack?" A voice tentatively asked. As nonchalantly as possible, Jack turned around and slapped his patent grin upon his face. No need to make it more painful for the others than it already was. It was Will, of course. Jack's harsh smile softened a bit into a real one.

"Well 'ello, Will," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "It is a lovely day out, is it not? Very lovely." Will was not amused. His face was drawn, his worried eyes fixed on Jack's face. As if memorising it, knowing that whatever he would say could do nothing to change Jack's mind. Jack, on the other hand, didn't need to memorise Will's face. Because he would never, ever forget the face of Bootstrap. It lingered in his memory. It was half blessing, half curse.

"How can you sit here and act like nothing is happening!" Will said angrily. "How can you lie back and just accept fate?!"

"The key word, dear William, being fate," Jack said with a wink. Will did not seem overly pleased with any of Jack's answers. Jack hated to let the boy down, but he had little choice. He had made up his mind.

"Fate is what you make it!" Will insisted. Jack smiled inwardly. Will sounded so much like his father. In fact, Jack , he sounded very much like Jack himself when he had been younger. Before he had given up.

"Maybe sometimes," Jack said slowly. "But some things are meant to be. I've accepted my fate. You might accept it as well."

"But I could get you out of here! Like before!" Will insisted, pointing over to a bench by the wall. Jack shook his head.

"William, boy, we wouldn't get far. You know that. I know that." He went up to the bars of the cell that held him and looked into the face of William. The face of Bootstrap. "We've 'ad our fun, lad."

"But...." Will protested. Jack smiled and shook his head. The lad had become attached. And strangely enough, Jack had become attached as well. At first, it had simply been because he was Bootstrap's child, all he had left of his best friend. But he knew Will now as Will. Both had been his friends. He was lucky. Jack didn't easily become close to anyone, and didn't have many trustworthy friends. Bootstrap had been one of the them. Will was one too. He knew that this hard to come-by friendship was one thing he would miss. Not many people knew the real Jack. He was beginning to wonder, however, how much of the real Jack Will really did know after all.

"This isn't anyone's fault," Jack said. "Not yours, not mine, not even the Commodore's. Even he has to live by the rules. I have to live by my own rules."

"You're a pirate. Hang the rules," Will said. Jack smiled bitterly.

"I've spent my whole life running, Will. I'm tired of running." And with that, he patted Will's hand, an obvious dismissal. "Listen, boy. You've been good to me. We had our adventures. You're a good man, you'll make a good husband, and a good father. But most of all, you've been a good friend. But now you've done enough." Will was speechless. Seeing he could do nothing in this situation, he turned to leave.

"Bootstrap would've been proud of you, son." Jack said softly.

*

They faced him towards the ocean. For that much, Jack was thankful. His last look at the world he was about to leave would be of the thing he loved most. Will had been upset that afternoon. He had all the right to be. Like Bootstrap, he was strong-headed and rash, never backing down. Jack had admired Bootstrap for those qualities, and he admired his son for the same. But their strengths were by far their weaknesses as well. The same could be said for himself, Jack thought.

Jack had said his goodbye. Whether Will had known it or not, in his own way, Jack had made his farewells. And with that goodbye, he could finally make the final goodbye to Bootstrap as well, the one he had never had a chance to say. While he had made peace with that years ago, that missed chance for thanks, for a final goodbye had nagged on his heart. Bootstrap had been his closest friend, and his life had been taken on Jack's behalf. Jack owed him something.

Jack's hands were tied together, and for once he didn't fidget, didn't try to figure out the best way to get his way out of them. He let his hands rest, his fingers gently pressing into each other as if he were contemplating something. He felt the itchy rope being placed around his neck, and he wondered briefly if they would cover his eyes.

"Jack Sparrow is sentenced to execution through hanging," a voice began.

"Captain, Jack Sparrow, Captain!" he insisted under his breath. But he wasn't a captain anymore. He had no crew, no ship. His eyes scanned over the crowd as the executioner went on, the voice in the far distance. The faces all blended together, wide-eyed, some filled with hate, but most filled with awe. Jack wondered briefly what they were so thrilled with. Did they see him? Or did they see a legend from some tale they heard at a tavern, a God instead of a man? How many people actually saw the condemned, terrified man before them?

Terrified. Had he really just thought that? He knew death awaited him. He had been running from it for ten years, and it had finally caught him. And he had gone willingly into its arms. He had told himself over and over again that he was not afraid to die. Death itself was not what frightened him. What, then? As much as he convinced himself he was not some coward, something still nagged. Internally he fought as his sentence continued. He laughed briefly to himself at the mention of impersonating a clergyman.

He had lived one hell of a life, that was for sure. All the things the executioner read were true, all brought back sights, sounds, and memories of the past. That had been before the mutiny, some even before he had really even been labeled a pirate. Most of the them had been with Bootstrap at his side. Even the past ten years of pure hell he now, in his last moments, looked back upon with fondness.

He saw in the distance Elizabeth watching, her eyes wide and sorrowful. Besides her was Commodore Norrington. His face was expressionless, but his eyes held some emotion Jack could not quite catch. He thought back to the private words he'd had with Norrington on the ship the day before. Had he said something that had struck a chord? While he felt he should feel a grudge towards Norrington, Jack respected the Commodore. He was just a man doing his job, after all, and Jack admired his sense of duty not only to his country but to himself. And Jack, watching those eyes, knew Norrington in his own strange way respected him too. Jack looked around for the one last familiar face he thought he might see, but Will was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, Jack thought, it was for the best. Drums began somewhere, and Jack turned quickly to see the sea once more as the ground dropped suddenly from beneath him.

Perhaps now I can finally get some rest was Jack's thought as he fell. And his life flashed before his eyes........