Alright, alright, I see how it is. *sigh*. The problem is Jack, you know. He's hard to not write about. But I have duties, as ms kittie would point out…


Bootstrap Turner stood at the bow of the Esperance, breathing the salt air and feeling its cleansing mist. The only time he felt truly alive anymore was when he stood like this, just so, with a ship rising and falling beneath his feet. The hypnotic rhythm of the waves let his mind untangle, let him forget, and nothing seemed as urgent as it did when he attempted to think about what he was planning to do… or where they were going... or what came next.

He sighed as the surprisingly gentle mood ebbed away from him, elusive and welcome as a mermaid's smile. Turning to look amidships, he saw his son sitting on the deck leaning against the rail with his elbows on his knees, long dark waves of hair tangled into his hands. Something of his earlier mood seemed to stay with him as he walked over to the boy.

"Are you feeling alright, son?"

Will's head jerked up and he looked suspiciously at the older man. "I'm fine."

Staring at him for a moment, the older William opened his mouth to say something, then stopped as Governor Swann appeared from below. Bootstrap's expression turned dark but he controlled himself, nodding stiffly as he brushed past the man to return to the helm. Will spared the Governor a glance.

"I thought I told you to stay below."

Swann's eyebrows raised slightly. The boy, even low-born as he was, had never before been rude to him. "Surely you wouldn't begrudge me a little sunshine from time to time, Master Turner."

Will gave him a long look and shrugged, dropping his head back into his hands.

The Governor couldn't help noticing that the boy's pupils were dilated, his skin flushed with more than the sun and wind. "Are you well?"

"If people left me alone, I'd be fine."

"Perhaps you should get some rest-"

"I told you." He gave a small cough and pulled out a round, oiled leather flask that was on a cord around his neck. Opening it, he took a pull at it, winced, and closed it again. "I'm fine."

Swann frowned. "What's that?"

Will glared up at him again. "Coltrane gave it to me for my cough. Captain's orders." He followed the statement with a jerk of his head toward the helm, and Swann shook his head. Something was definitely going on with the boy.

"And what's in it?"

"I don't care. It helps the cough." He took another swig, staggered to his feet and moved unsteadily away from the Governor. "Don't stay where he can see you."

Something paternal stirred in Weatherby Swann. "Listen, Will –" But the boy just made a vague wave with his hand and staggered back towards the stern. Looking around, Swann took a deep breath and walked steadily over to where a tall, dark haired pirate was idly carving as he sat on a neat coil of rope. The governor waited for a moment, then cleared his throat. The sailor looked at him lazily.

"What."

"Mr. Coltrane?"

The pirate nodded, his eyes narrow. "And what would that be to you?" The governor folded his hands behind his back and smiled tightly.

"I'm a bit of a collector of odd recipes for health, Mr. Coltrane, and I'm curious as to what's in that elixir that you gave young Mr. Turner. He says it seems to be helping."

The man's expression brightened somewhat. "Ah. That's my best one, it is. Learned that one at my gran-dam's knee."

"Really?" The governor tried to look pleasant. "And what's it made of?"

"Well, she taught me all the old-time names. I get them from an apothecary in Tortuga, and he knows all of 'em by those names. I'm not sure you'd know them or not, not being trained in the art." Coltrane's expression was both proud and a bit smug.

Swann smiled again as visions of his botany and Latin tutor rolling his eyes whirled through his head. "Oh, I think I know a few of the 'old-time' names. Let's hear it."

Coltrane screwed up his face and looked skyward. "Well, there's rum, right enough. And honey, and lime to take the edge, you know."

"Yes, yes of course."

"And then there's mentha piperita-"

Swann blinked in surprise. He was expecting 'old woman's slipper', or 'devil's cherry'. "Your Gran knew the Latin names of herbs?"

"No, it's like I said, Gov. The old-time names. Some people know them by different ones now, but Gran said these were the medicine names." He paused, strained to think. "Let's see, where was I. Oh, yes. Verbascum thapus…"

Swann nodded quickly as he concentrated on understanding the man's over-strained Latin. Nothing odd there, peppermint and mullien. Common herbs for congestion.

"But what really makes it work, Gran said, was the artemisia absinthium, and atropa belladonna-"

"What?"

"I said artemisia–"

"Yes, yes, of course you did. What proportions did you use?"

"Don't know the proportions," Coltrane said, tripping over the word. "But I can tell you how much I put in. It'll clear up any infection a man has in him."

"But how much do you administer- how much do you have them take?"

"Oh, usually it don't take much. And since half the time you have to hold them down and pour it in, one dose does it. It's bitterer than betrayal, that stuff."

Two minutes later Governor Swann was approaching the helm. "Captain Turner. I must have a word with you."

"Passengers get below." Bootstrap growled at him without making eye contact.

Swann's expression was set. "It's about your son."

Turner swiveled to look at the other man. Something in the governor's expression must have made an impact, because the captain frowned. "What about him?"

"Mr. Coltrane gave him something for his cough –"

"Aye. I ordered that. Can't have the whole crew getting sick."

Swann sighed in exasperation. "You know he's been drinking it nonstop?"

The captain shrugged. "Honey, rum, lime… it's not going to hurt anything."

"But you know Mr. Coltrane puts certain medicinal herbs in it as well?"

"Aye, not surprised." The captain's face took on a more concerned cast, for all his casualness in answering.

Swann stepped closer, risking his life without really knowing it. "Captain. Are you familiar with wormwood? Or belladonna?"


Will Turner stood at the stern, fighting the fatigue and dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. Resting his head on the rail, cradled in his arms, he felt the blanket of unconsciousness lowering over him once more. Shaking it off angrily, he blinked at the horizon, thought for a moment he saw a ship. Standing upright so quickly that he almost fell, he stared at the spot until the light glaring off the water nearly blinded him. He began to mumble under his breath. "Damn it, Jack. Damn you."

A nearly clear voice in his head whispered seductively.

Perhaps Elizabeth's run off with him after all. You know how she loves pirates…

"No. She wouldn't… she…"

Come now. You told her father that that was what happened…

"Yes, but it was a story…"

And why did it come to mind so quickly?

"But… Elizabeth…she said she loves me."

Yes, but who knows why anyone does anything anymore. And honestly, wouldn't they be here by now if they were coming? If they cared about what's happening to you?

"But…"

You're alone, Will Turner. Just like you've been ever since your mother died. No one else really cares. Or ever has. You're nothing more than a useful animal, nothing more than that donkey in the shop…

"No…" He mumbled quietly to himself, rested his head for just a moment, closed out the world, the voices inside.

Unconsciousness hit him like a wave. The dream hit more softly, at first.

Will stood outside a door, a strangely familiar door. It was far too tall, but he just frowned at it and opened the knob. Inside was a bed spread with a faded rose quilt. The woman who lay in it was breathing loudly, sounding to the boy like she was breathing underwater. He quietly stepped closer, and she saw him, attempted to smile.

"Hello, sweetheart." She gasped a few more breaths. "How's my little man today?"

Her eyes were bright but fading, like a flower past its prime.

"I'm fine, mother. Are you getting better yet?"

"Oh, no. I don't think the good Lord has that in mind for me."

Will's eyes grew teary as he stared at her, and she patted the bed weakly. "Come sit by me a minute." He did, taking her hand that she stretched out to him. "You're a good man, Will Turner."

"I'm just a boy." He stared at her hand, not wanting to look at the strangely faded face.

"Oh, no." She gasped for a breath, coughed a few times, and closed her eyes. He stared at her and panicked.

"Mother?"

Her smile was soft but weak. "I'm still here, darling. But I don't know for how long."

His face screwed up as he tried to keep back the tears. "I - I don't want you to go."

"Now don't hold me back, Will Turner. There's the whole of Heaven for me to explore. And I'll find a nice place so that in a hundred years when you and your father come to visit, I'll have the place done up right." She smiled fondly at him, using all her remaining strength to appear strong for him. "You must do something for me, though."

A single tear ran down his cheek and patted onto his hand. "What?"

"When I'm gone, you must go and find your father, let him know I've gone on ahead. Tell him… well… Last I heard he was…" She stopped, coughed again.

"Mother?"

"A place called Port Royal. Can you remember that?"

"Port Royal." His voice was shaking.

"Good lad. You take what's left in the jar in the kitchen and find a ship going that way."

"But mother… I don't want to leave you." In spite of himself, tears began in earnest, and he rested his head on their clasped hands. She strained to put her other hand on his head.

"I've told you a hundred times, Will, I won't be here." She ruffled his hair gently. "I'll be watching out for wherever you are. If you need me, remember I'm never far away." Taking another labored breath, Beatrice Turner seemed to sigh. "I love you, son."

Will wept for a few minutes, then apprehensively lifted his head.

His mother's eyes were closed, her face still set in a soft smile. Her skin, always fair, was like translucent porcelain. He whispered quietly. "Mother?" When there was no answer, he cried again, this time not knowing for how long. But he stopped, when he felt as if someone had ruffled his hair one more time. Looking around the room, he saw no one. Sniffling in a breath, he stood up and straightened the linens around her. "I'll be seeing you, Mother. I've just got to go find a ship."

He walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, and saw his father standing in front of him. Will frowned. This wasn't what he remembered anymore. Then he noticed movement down the corridor. Walking slowly down the hall to join them was his mother.

His eyes grew wide. "Mother?" Slowly she walked past a window, and as the bright moonlight hit her, she became a skeleton, shreds of her white nightclothes draping her like some mockery of a bridal gown. He jumped back. Behind his mother was Elizabeth, her hair in strings over the bones of her head. "What's going on?" His father turned and shook his head, which had become a tattered skull.

"You see, Will? Everyone. Every last one of us, cursed."

Will screamed.

"It's all right, boy."

The eyes that opened may have looked like his wife's, but she never had the expression of wide-eyed terror that haunted his son's face. "Will?"

The boy looked around like a hunted animal, made a strangled cry, and closed his eyes again, collapsing back into the pillows. His father, horrified, put his ear to Will's chest and could hear his heart pounding. Without even thinking he turned to Governor Swann. "What do we do?"

Swann looked concerned, but shook his head. They had found the boy hunched over the stern rail, unconscious, and managed to get him into the captain's bed with the help of one of the crew. "I'm no doctor, Captain. Perhaps it would be best if he could rest. Just - wait it out, and don't let him take any more of that." He gestured toward the flask that the captain had taken away from the boy. "I don't get the impression he's been sleeping much." The two fathers nodded, joined momentarily by their concern for a child, no matter what his age. "I could stay with him for a few hours, if you like."

Bootstrap looked at the governor, and his expression changed abruptly. His eyes narrowed as he stared, dark thoughts blossoming in his mind. "No. He's my son. I'll stay by him."

Swann raised his eyebrows, but only said "Very well," as he left the room.

Once he had watched him leave, William Turner sat down by the bed and looked at his son. "You see? We can't let down our guard for a minute."