Title: Dragonfly

Author: Muse a.k.a. Viorith

Rating: R for sexual situations and violence

Pairing: Will/OFC & Jack/Anna Marie

Feedback: Yes

Archive: Ask first please_

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with PoTC, I'm just playing with them. I do own Sabine. So please ask if you want to play with her.

Summary: Sabine has loved Will since she was 16, but since his eyes were for Elizabeth only, she settled for his friendship. A year after the curse is lifted, Sabine now needs him to teach her the way of the blade so she can avenge her father's death on a man that once called himself his friend.

Chapter 18

A gentle tropical rain tapped against the window, as soothing as the yesterday storm had been violent. Sabine lay on the bed, her body burning to the touch and every nerve ending was on fire with pain. Sitting on the bed next to her was a dark skinned woman. She was dressed mostly in white, from the wrap around her head to the sandals on her feet.

At the other end of the room, a young black girl stood in the corner. Oliver sat in a chair, while Will paced back and forth like a caged tiger. He gnawed upon his thumbnail as he kept his eyes trained on the woman. She whispered to Sabine in a foreign language Will had never heard before, but the moans coming from Sabine never decreased or lessened.

"I thought you said your surgeon was coming," he accused Oliver, no longer able to take the silence.

"Zamira knows more about medicine than can be taught in any class."

"And you're willing to risk Sabine's life on this witch doctor?"

Oliver turned his eyes to Will, and shot a quick warning look. "I understand you care deeply for her, but try not to test my patience."

"It's not malaria," Zamira stated changing her tongue so she would be understood. "It acts like malaria, but there are differences."

"What difference?" Oliver questioned.

"She has the high fever, and the vomiting that is associated with Malaria, but the aches of her body and the bruising--"

"What bruising?" Will demanded.

She motioned them over to the bed and pulled the sheet back to reveal a five-fingered bruise on her thigh from where Will's hand was placed while carrying her. It had the black/blue appearance that all bruises have when they are freshly made. Will looked down at his fingers before clenching them into a fist.

"The easiness of her bruising... the pains that she has. I have seen this before back home. They call it Dengue fever."

Will turned his eyes from the witch doctor to the woman laying on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him for several beats, but never seemed to focus on him before closing her eyes. Something in Spanish slipped from her lips. He took a seat on the other side of the bed, his fingers removing a lock of curls stuck to her forehead. Zamira gave instructions to the girl that stood in the corner, speaking to her in the same foreign tongue from before. The girl nodded and left the room.

In a voice gone still and calm with stoic reservation, Will asked, "What do we have to do?" he looked up when the silence stretched on in time to catch a glimpse between the ex-pirate and the witch doctor. "There is something we can do? "

"I'm afraid not," Zamira answered.

"There has to be some herbs to collect, or some potion that can be made," Will insisted.

"You do not understand," she began as gently as possible. "There is no potion, no cure for this sickness. Her body will either heal itself, or it won't. The only thing for us to do is to make her as comfortable as possible."

The girl returned with water, a small bottle, and a sponge, all of which she turned over to Zamira.

"You mean sit around and wait for her to die," he accused.

"Not everyone dies," Zamira assured.

She dipped the sponge into the water, making sure it was thoroughly soaked before wringing it out just enough to keep it from dripping everywhere. She spoke in her native language to the girl, who immediately pulled the covers up around Sabine to her neck.

"We must try to break the fever in her body, by keeping her warm. And give her as much liquids as she can take."

Zamira opened the small bottle and put ten drops on the sponge, then held that to Sabine's lips. She whispered something to her in Spanish, and Sabine weakly began to suck on the sponge.

"What is that?" Will questioned.

"Water."

He frowned, a deep crease of his brow. "Yes I know that, but what did you put on the sponge?"

"Opium," Zamira answered plainly.

"Opium?" he repeated, "Why are you drugging her?"

"To ease her pain."

"Yes but surely there is another--"

"Oliver, get the boy out of here. I cannot concentrate on healing this child and answering his questions."

"Will," Oliver motioned the young man to follow him out into the hallway. "You must allow Zamira to do what it is I brought her here to do."

It was with great reluctance, but Will eventually promised Sabine he would return, kissed her forehead and exited the room with Oliver. In the hall, waited both Anna-Maria and Jack. Both of them took to their feet when the men exited the room.

"How is she?" Anna-Maria inquired, only able to catch a glimpse of the woman in bed before the closed door again blocked her view.

"She has contracted Dengue Fever," Oliver answered, "It is too early to say what her outcome will be."

"She'll be fine," Will stated with confidence, as if Sabine had nothing more than a bad cold.

"Perhaps," Oliver began softly, "We all want Miss Sabine to recover, but you heard Zamira. Not everyone that is infected by this fever recovers from it. You should prepare yourself for the possibility--"

"That she may die?" Will finished for him. "You can prepare yourself for it, if that is what you wish to do, but that is not an option for me. She. Won't. Die."

The Blacksmith bit each word out with unwavering certainty. His pure brown eyes blazing with that same hope. It wasn't that he wasn't allowing himself to believe that Sabine wouldn't die, for him that possibility really wasn't an option. He had just realized what existed between him and the woman that had become his family. He was not about to lose that, not without a fight.

~~~

**She looked elegantly beautiful. Her dress of pure white spilled from her shoulders down her body, decorated with braided, golden cords at the bodice, and a shimmering gold over lay covering the skirt. Gloves covered her hands that clutched a bouquet of wild flowers of various colors, and even though her face was covered by a white lace veil, Will could see the smile on her lips.

He felt his own answering smile in return, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. She tilted her face up to his, receiving the touch of his fingers as they pressed to her cheek. His lips soon followed, feeling the soft yielding flesh even through the textured lace, but it wasn't enough. He gathered the veil in his fingers and slowly pulled it up.

A scream caught in his throat. It wasn't Sabine's face that stared back at him, but that of a skeleton. No sultry lips covered the teeth that grinned menacingly at him, her rich brown skin was replaced by ashen hued bone and empty sockets stared at him instead of rich brown soulful eyes.**

Will jerked awake, startled, confused and frightened. The smell of death still clung to his nostrils. His own pulse echoing in his head, as his heart slammed against his chest in an effort to free itself.

"Will calm down," Anna-Maria encouraged capturing his face between her hands. "It was just a dream. Just a dream."

She stared into the young man's wild eyes, watching as the fear slowly leaked away and the dream released its hold on him for reality. He took a deep breath and inhaled the stuffiness he had come to expect in Sabine's room. Under Zamira's orders, the large window that covered three of the four walls were kept closed, and the drapes on all but one were pulled. Enough sunlight filled the room from the north-facing window to save it from having the complete feel and look of a tomb.

Sabine continued to lay in a fever-induced sleep. She would wake from time to time, but her words were always spoken in Spanish, and held a note of delirium to them. Will wasn't sure if she even realized he was in the room or not. Three days had passed since her arrival in the house and she seemed to get worse with each dawn. Her fever was at an all time high, and even with the opium-laden water, she continued to groan with pain.

"Have you eaten anything?" Anna-Maria questioned. Once the Blacksmith's eyes had returned to normal, she took a seat in the other bedside chair.

Even without the shake of his head, Anna knew the answer. Will hardly left Sabine's side, save when Zamira chased him from the room, and even that the witch doctor had stopped doing. Zamira claimed it was because Will had stopped making a nuisance of himself, but Anna-Maria knew better. She saw Sabine's health deteriorating, and she knew Zamira no longer put Will out so he could have as much time as possible with Sabine before there was none left to be had.

"Will," she whispered softly, "You should get some rest."

"I'm not tired," he answered.

"Even still..."

He took in a deep breath, his eyes never straying once from her face. He reached out, his fingers caressing her cheek. "Sabine asked me once if I believed in soul mates."

"What did you tell her?"

He shook his head, "I don't remember," he continued to stare her, like she had mesmerized him while she slumbered. "She's beautiful don't you think?"

"Si," she answered, even though she wasn't sure he was looking for an answer.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but he never did, just continued to stare at her as if at any given moment she would wake up and talk to him.

"Will, I'll tell you if she wakes up."

"When she wakes up," he corrected.

She thought to point out the obvious, but chose to remain silent. It still took several more minutes before he finally stood. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and whispered words so softly into her ear, even Anna-Maria couldn't make out what he said.

He moved to the door and gave another parting glance before leaving. He meant to go to his room. As tired as he felt, he was surprised he was able to make it down the hall without passing out, but instead of his room, his feet took him outside to Oliver's garden.

It was in the back of the huge house. There was a small garden area that was just past the patio setting and just before the maze of bushes. It was there, William Turner collapsed onto the stone bench, placed his face into his palms and wept silently.

There were many people he knew would come and go from his life. As far back as he could remember his mother had been sick, and even though they talked of him as an adult, and how he would care for her, he knew she wouldn't survive. Likewise he knew if his father were to come into his life, that it probably wouldn't have been for the long haul. Part of him even knew Elizabeth ultimately wouldn't be around forever. Out of all those people, Sabine was the one person that he never planned on being without. She was a constant in his life, as permanent to him as the sun was to the sky.

And now that sun might be setting for good.

Will wasn't a fool. He put up a brave front, but he knew each day, Sabine was getting worse. She no longer woke up, she no longer feigned a smile she no longer did anything other than lay there, sweat and groan. Sabine had been there when he lost Elizabeth, who would be there for him if he lost her.

"She means that much to you, yes?" Oliver questioned.

Will hadn't heard him approach, yet there the man was, sitting next to him on the bench. He offered the date held in his palm, biting into it when Will shook his head.

"I owe you an apology," he began again, "I did not realize your feelings for Miss Sabine ran so deeply."

Will wiped his face with his palms before turning to meet the man next to him. Every time he looked at Oliver, he wondered what happened between him and Sabine. It wasn't a question that was at the forefront of his mind, but it was still there.

"That makes two of us," Will muttered, then studied him. "Would it have mattered?"

Oliver gave a grin that could have meant anything or nothing at all. He was good at that, at being mysterious. He looked into Will's eyes, studied the young man as he himself was being studied.

"You do not think much of me, do you?" before Will could answer he gave a quick wave of his hand. "You needn't say a word, I can see it in your eyes. You don't like me, but then I don't like myself that much at times. You see me as a threat. I don't blame you."

He said noting, simply turned back to stare at the bush maze.

"You need not worry what happened between us my friend," he stated knowing the source of contention between them. "Miss Sabine loves you so wholly, there is no room for another in her heart."

"It's not exactly her heart I was worried about," Will muttered.

Oliver laughed. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands with it. "Jack was right, you are very much like your father."

Will turned back to Oliver. That one word always had, and always would be able to stop the young man in his tracks. "You knew my father?"

Oliver nodded. "Not nearly as well as Jack, mind you. I was two months away from turning The Pearl over to Jack when your father came aboard. He wasn't much older than you are now, although not nearly as uptight."

At that Will managed to frown, but he didn't lose any interest in the topic.

"It's amazing how much you look like him," he stated sizing the young man up. "A bit smaller through the shoulders, but there's no mistaking who's son you are."

"I never knew him," Will stated regretfully.

"I think you would have like him. Jack certainly did," Oliver grinned at the memory of the two. "Bill Turner was as green to the water as a person born on an island could be. Jack looked out for him like a big brother," he turned to stare at Will once more. His eyes narrowing as he studied his face carefully. "Has anyone ever told you, you and Jack bare a remarkable resemblance to one another?"

The young Blacksmith raised a single eyebrow but neither agreed nor disagreed. He breathed in deeply and sighed the breath out.

"Worrying about what might be, does neither of you any good," he stated and departed as quietly as he had appeared.

Will sighed again before getting to his feet. He stretched his body, his arms and fingers reaching above his head, his shoulders rounding slightly. He turned his focus to the window of Sabine's room that pointed out over the garden, then made a decision. He began gathering some of the flora. Zamira wanted to keep her room warm in an effort to drive out the heat, but just because if felt like a tomb, didn't mean it had to smell like one.

~~~

Her body felt light, but at the same time, her limbs felt heavy. It took her three tries before she was able to move her arm, and even then she wasn't able to pull it from the weight of the covers it was under. The room felt dark, at least there was no light pressing against her closed eyelids, so she took a chance and opened them. She had been afraid she would be blinded, although she didn't know why. Nor did she realize where she was for several moments. The last clear memory she had was of the ship and the storm. The rest seemed to be fuzzy pieces of events that didn't quite connect together.

She knew she was in Oliver's house, but how she got there didn't register, until she slowly turned her head to the left. Slumped in the chair sat a sleeping Will Turner. His dark brown hair that had mostly been captured in a tie at one point, was now mostly loose and framing his face. Dark curling lashes almost rested against his face, and his pink lips were parted letting his breath flow freely in and out.

She tried to call his name, but her throat was so dry and scratchy, little more than a squeak came out. It took three tries before everything finally cooperated so the sound squeezed out, and even then it was barely over a whisper. However, a whisper was all that was needed, for the Blacksmith's sleep had not been sound.

He opened his eyes, blinking several times to clear the sting lack of sleep brought, but soon sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. He thought it a dream, it had to be, for he had just over heard Zamira saying Sabine's heart was probably burnt from the heat. She had said the woman's body was dead, but her brain didn't know it. She had told them to summon the priest.

"Sabine," he whispered her name, afraid to speak it any louder for fear of waking himself.

"Why do you stare so?" she questioned completely confused as to what he was doing sleeping by her bed, and why he looked as if he were staring at a ghost.

"Are you really awake?"

"Of course I'm awake, why wouldn't I be?"

Still trapped in awe, he slid from the chair in a boneless fluid motion that put him sitting on her bed. His fingers touched her face, exploring her cheeks, her eyes, her nose and mouth. He felt his heart beating faster in his chest, felt the sting of his eyes as tears weld behind them.

"Will, what is the matter with--"

Sabine's words were cut off as he pulled her into his arms for a crushing embrace. Even if he mind had thought to hug him back, the sheer force of power in his arms would have made it impossible as his arms pinned hers down.

"Will, I can't breath," she managed to choke out and was rewarded by him lessening his grip, but only enough so he could pull back and stare into her eyes.

The words on her tongue died as she saw something swimming in the depths she thought she would never see from him, at least not directed at her.

"I love you, Sabine," he declared plainly.

He adjusted his grip to cradle her face in his hands. With his eyes sealed behind his lids, his lips closed the distance between them. He felt her breath in quickly at the first contact. A brush so slight between them, they could have stopped then and pretended that nothing ever happened. Then he kissed her again, a sturdy press of his lips. The kind of kiss that could breath life into a body. The kind of kiss fairy tales were made of.

A/N: What can I say, I decided not to hang you gals from a cliff this time. Don't get used to it. ;-)