Disclaimer: I don't own anyone but me. Not Pirates of the Caribbean, nor any pirates at all. I don't own the actors or the music or the story lines or whatever else people these days can sue over!


Note: hi everyone! I must admit it's been a long time... too long. And I apoligise for ignoring my task ^_^ Lets just say I've had an awful week here at University and am trying to get back on my feet. Also, I have been internally fighting myself on how to take this story through. No excuse, I know ^_^ I'll make it up to you, I hope. Oh, and thanks for all the wonderful reviews! I wish at the beginning I had begun to answer each individually as some do, but it's far too late for that now. Next fic, maybe. Anyhow, next installment! This is the end of the trip, everyone! *sniff*


Part the Sixth: Voyage Closed and Done


Suddenly the memories began to slow, becoming short and shorter, and from somewhere in whatever conscience Jack had left, he wondered if he were dead....


"I'm sorry, Jack, but Bootstrap is dead." Gibbs usually grinning face was drawn, his eyes sympathetic, looking at Jack in concern. But Jack remained impassive, and Gibbs, who, though he had not known Jack long, had become extremely close to the strange, unpredictable pirate, couldn't tell what was he was thinking. Those deep, dark, unreadable eyes should have shown pain, but they were glassy, revealing nothing. That was what scared Gibbs the most. This reaction was the last of what he had expected of Jack. Anger. Pain Gibbs had even half expected him to lash out at him, anyone, just to let some emotion show. But Jack remained as he was. The only indication he gave that he had heard was his hand had gone to grip the back of the chair, and he was holding it so tightly his knuckles were white.

How could Bootstrap be dead? Jack felt a wave of emotions well inside him, confusing him. All these years he had assumed Bootstrap a traitor. That last glimpse he'd had of his friend's face as he was abandoned to his fate had haunted him. Hurt and guilt had over all those years turned into hatred and anger. Now it suddenly all fell away in a moment, leaving him light-headed and floundering for a grasp on reality. Bootstrap had died because he'd hated what they had done to HIM. Which meant HE was responsible for his death. In the back corner of his mind, he knew this wasn't true, but the guilt gnawed at him regardless, the death of his friend weighing heavily on his heart and mind.


"Jack!" There was an uproar of voices. Something was going on, something had happened...



" My name is Will Turner," the boy said. Jack sat up slowly. It could not be, Bootstrap was dead..... He sat up slowly, trying not to show any emotion. Of course he was dead. What was he thinking. Was he as mad as people said he was, as he pretended to be? Pretending to be mad certainly had its advantages.... Nobody expected things of you. Bootstrap had been one of the few who understood him. This was not William Turner. William Turner was dead and gone from this world, and Jack was alone; without a crew, without a ship, without his best friend. This was his son. The son Bootstrap had fondly talked about with that far away look in his eye, the son that had almost stolen him from piracy. The son that had almost stolen Bootstrap away from Jack. In the end, the Sea's call had been too much for William Turner, and he had returned, but that son had always held a place in his heart. And while sometimes Jack felt that jealousy, that Bootstrap had family where Jack had none, he could not help but love the boy too... for what was precious to Bootstrap was precious to him.

"William. Strong name...." he muttered, half under his breath.


"It's that brash Turner!" someone cried. Jack could feel his senses return.... slowly. Sound slowly began to filter back in, but only later was he able to register the meanings of the sounds he heard, transfer them to words... On his freezing skin he suddenly felt the heat of the sun... the cool breeze of the Caribbean he had learned to love so well.... sensory overload sent him into wild confusion at first, and he struggled to get a grip on reality, on what was going on around him. The world to a man who has resigned himself willingly to death, can be a strange and confusing place... the sun is brighter, suddenly every little aspect of life means more than ever before, ever drop of rain, every smell brings a memory....


" I'm dying lad, there's no denying it now. We are pirates. We live death everyday, we bring it and we accept it. You understand that, boy, don't you? What I've taught you? " Jack nodded, angrily wiping away the tears from his face. He would be a man about it all. The last thing he needed right now, when he was going to lead men a great deal older than he, was to revert to childish ways. But seeing his captain, lying there like that, accepting death like that, was nearly too much.

"I understand, Captain," he muttered. His hand unconsciously gripped his Captain's tightly, and he nearly panicked as he could feel the life seeping out of him. Jack had seen death before, even delivered it a few times, but never like this. Never so personal.

"You realise what comes now, don't you boy? What this has been leading up to, you whom I have taken under my wing as if my own son, with whom I would trust with my life more than any of these grown men I have known for decades?"

"Aye," Jack said, not wishing to hear it. He had wished to come unto his own, but not like this, never like this.

"When I am gone, you will be Captain of the Pearl, boy." He smiled in his last moments as his eyes clouded over, and Jack held on tightly to the hand of the man who had taught him all he knew. "Take good care of 'er.... Jack me lad. Take good care of me Pearl." And with that he was gone. That night, he was buried at Sea and Jack was named Captain.


His feet were touching something. Tentatively, desperately, Jack found his balance. The pressure around his neck remained, but loosened. Eyes suddenly wide open as Jack finally came to his self and realised what was happening, that he was not dead. The rope suddenly fell from the gallows and Jack with it. The rush of air into his lungs was almost painful. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something screamed that he was in danger, that Will needed help....

Now I owe my life to your son, William....


Jack was free. He had escaped from Death's warm arms when he had been so far gone, ready to leave the world of pain and memories behind, and granted another chance.

A grin lit up Jack's face. Back to his old self, he took in his surroundings at once. Chaos was everywhere– the perfect chance for escape. He slit the ropes from his wrists, grabbed the sword that had saved his life, and jumped to join the battle, reveling in the sunshine and every cool breath that entered his lungs like a child seeing the world for the first time.

He caught a glimpse of Elizabeth in the back. Commodore Norrington was leaping to action, but his heart did not seem in it. Jack caught his eyes for one brief moment. In it he saw that respect again. Jack could only hope his eyes reflected the same. He knew what Norrington was going to do. If not for Jack, for Elizabeth. He was being offered life. No, more than life. Freedom.

What had he told Will not so long ago.... it seemed like lifetimes away, and in a way, it was. A smile, not sarcastic, not insane, but a genuine smile crept onto the face of Jack for the first time in a very long time.


One did not simply ignore fate...





*Well folks, I do believe that's the end! Sorry it took so long, but maybe I can write another fic now! I really, really hope you enjoyed!*