Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story are the property of Disney. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Twelve: Oceans, Pistols, Bullets, and Rum

For a long while, William had been floating, suspended in the dark waters of his mind. He stared towards the surface of the ocean and found the night sky shimmering down upon him, rippling softly with the waves. Blue moonlight cascaded upon him, and he felt a strange peace descend upon him as long as he was allowed to stay there.

But then there was pain. Excruciating pain, worse than any he had ever experienced before. Chill and heat spread through his veins like venom, shattering any hopes of peace. He shook, convulsed, and trembled in order to escape, but the water had become as ice and held him under, making him of a prisoner of the ailment.

"He's not looking so good…" the voice echoed beneath the waves. "You should go get the Captain. He's shaking."

"Five minutes won't make any difference. There's no way even she can fix a wound as bad as his."

There was a pause. Footsteps danced across wooden floorboards, disappearing momentarily before returning.

"Are you coming?"

"Sorry mate. Just thinking about who he reminds me of."

Silence. Blessed silence. William hoped they could hear him screaming from the inside out.

"Why is she so interested in him anyways? I thought she fancied women?"

"That's a cover, you dolt," Footsteps was growing impatient with his idiot friend. "She's had men before, just never brought one back with her."

"He really does look familiar."

"Yeah, he does," another pause, lasting for what felt like centuries. Will was twisting and turning within his oceanic prison, begging for release. He could not breathe. He could not think. All he could do was feel, and not a single part of him didn't hurt at the present moment.

"You better go get the Captain. He's going to bleed himself dry."

"Right," Footsteps said, going to leave the room once more.

And then Will finally broke through to the surface, gasping as he sat up. Somewhere between passing out and waking up he had been laid on a makeshift bed inside a cabin he had never seen before. Several trunks were strapped to the floors around him, labeled with ripped parchment and messy so writing Will doubted he could read them even if he had learned. A solitary desk was pressed against the far wall with bottles of ink, ostrich quills, and parchment strewn across the top, some written on, some still blank.

He looked to the men with him, having become more unsure of his whereabouts now that he had inspected the room. They were dressed messily, like pirates, but whoever kept this room had to have access to some money.

Both men stared at him in shock, more surprised than afraid. The one seated next to him was trying to speak, but words eluded him.

William made it easy for him. He grabbed the pistol hanging from the man's belt and cocked it, aiming towards the man's head. Despite being lightheaded and in an excruciating amount of pain from the bullet wound, his grip on the weapon was steady, reading to fire. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he managed to stammer, "Where am I?"

Both men were silent. 'Footsteps' had retreated from the doorway, his own pistol in hand as a second line of defense. The act, though noble, was futile. Will's shot would be nearly point blank and kill much faster than his reflexes allotted him to fire.

"Where. Am. I?" he asked again. His vision was graying out at the edges, a bad sign even when one was not engaged in a gun fight. Still, his resolve was solid. He had been having the week from hell. Killing someone – especially someone who had potentially threatened his bride – would be a sadistic but effective sort of therapy at that moment.

"You're a pris...(no, 'prisoner' wasn't the right word) guest aboard the Wayfarer's Redemption."

"What have you done with Miss Swann?"

"Who?"

"MY WIFE! WHERE IS SHE?"

"We don't know," the man on the bed replied fearfully. "The captain…"

"What captain?" Will demanded, hoping that for Jack Sparrow's sake it wasn't him.

"Well, Captain Morgan Andrew," the man on the bed stammered.

William's blood grew hot, overpowering the pain suddenly. His adrenaline was surging, cheeks crimson with anger. Morgan Andrew or Andrew Morgan? The two names were interchangeable, and the appearance of both in one night could not be a simple coincidence. "I'm not a simpleton," he had once told Jack Sparrow, and Will certainly wasn't. He knew when he was being lied to.

His pause had given 'Footsteps' enough time to approach the bed and try and pull the pistol from his hands. During their scuffle, the man seated opposite Will made a dive for the floor, only just dodging the bullet erupting from Will's pistol during the melee. Taking advantage of the distraction, the man rose and made a dash for the stairs.

Jack Sparrow was a flurry of emotions, none of them good. While his usual swagger had not abandoned him, his heart was pounding in his ears as he, Morgan, and the other man – WHAT THE HELL WAS HIS NAME? Jack decided that Crates was an appropriate title – bustled down the hall for the Captain's cabin.

When they opened the door they found a rather surprising sight. William Turner, looking like he had just gone through hell and back several times, was standing over the defeated pirate with two pistols in his hand barking out questions.

Will looked to the doorway, eyes narrowing in anger when he found Jack Sparrow there. "You," he said gruffly. "You're a part of all this."
"Actually Will, I'm just as confused as you are right about now," he replied, on edge from what he saw. Rivers of blood dripped down from Will's shirt to the floor, collecting in puddles at his feet, though the boy barely noticed. His eyes were on Jack as the pirate approached.

"How's about you give Jack the pistols now?" he said gently, holding out his hand expectantly.

Will's eyes narrowed at the Captain, the only man he could confidently call his true friend. The man at his feet shivered at the sight of the pistol barrels aimed directly at his head. No amount of blood loss had destroyed William's unlimited supply of resolve, and he'd have to die before they were likely to leave his hands.

"Come on," Jack urged him softly, his vocal tone akin to one used while soothing a frightened animal. William shook violently, as if the pain had at last caught up with him. "Come on, Will. Give Jack the pistols."

The walls between them keeled under pressure and Will finally lowered the weapons, relinquishing them to the Captain. Jack clutched them in both hands, taking them a fair distance from the distressed looking young man. Even though he hid it well, Jack's heart pounded loudly in his head from fear.

"There's a good lad," he said, passing the pistols off to Morgan, who then handed them back to 'Crates'. She gestured for her man on the ground to get up, dismissing both with a small wave.

"Get him on the bed," she whispered to Jack, trying not to startle Will in the process. She then headed over to the trunks on the other side of the room.

"Who is she?" William asked groggily as Jack ushered him over to what he thought to be the bed. It consisted of nothing more than several ratty blanket piled on top of one another, a complete contradiction to what Morgan was using as an alter-ego.

He glanced in her direction. She had removed the fine jacket and tricorn she had been wearing and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. Rising from the trunk, she approached the bed with a small bundle of medical supplies clenched in her fist: a pair of rusty scissors, tweezers, a curved needle, and a spool of thick, black thread. In the other hand was a half empty bottle of rum.

Pulling the cork from the bottle, she took the first swig, lowering on one knee by the two pirates. "I wasn't lying," she said to Will, offering him the bottle, "When I said I'd been to medical school. Can't say the rest of my accolades were all true, but at least I wasn't lying about the important things." He stared at her, eyes narrowed from both the pain and his confusion. It took a moment to register that the female face in front of him had once been a man.

"Andrew," Will said, finally realizing who it was.

She shook the bottle. "You should drink some of that."

"Why?"

"I haven't got any anesthetic with me. The last bottles of chloroform I smuggled out of London were shattered on the voyage here, a hard loss. They fetch quite the price with poachers in these parts. This'll numb the pain…somewhat…"

He didn't particularly like to hear her uncertainty, least of all when she was just moments from operating on him. He looked from her to the bottle one more time, still trying to catch up with the situation.

Jack too, was eyeing the bottle with an increasing level of interest. After another moment passed without another word from either of them, he reached in to take his share of the rum. Morgan, never missing a beat, batted his hand away and shot him a dirty glare. She then proceeded to take another drink herself and set about organizing her tools.

"Turn around then," she said. Will looked to Jack, who looked back to Will and shrugged. He didn't know anything more about what was happening than Will did, obviously. Morgan lifted the scissors. "That's bullet got to come out sometime otherwise an infection is going to set in. So are you going to turn around, or am I going to have to do it for you?"

The two men stared at the scissors like cows stare at an oncoming train. Will certainly didn't want any thing that sharp and that big coming near the wound in his back. Jack seemed more shocked at the idea of her being malicious and blood thirsty than anything else. They glanced at each other again.

"I think I'll take the rum," Will said.

"Me too," Jack agreed.

Author's Notes:

Before people start ranting about women in medical school during the 18th century, I have just three words: Miranda James Barry, or James Miranda Barry. She graduated from medical school under the guise as a male and went on to become one of the most celebrated physicians in Britain's history, discovered only AFTER her death. A pirate is unlikely, but I have given Morgan a plausible past, I swear.

Reviews:

Skystrike26: Thank you so much! I was worried about her being too much for the plot and that readers would respond badly to her presence. Your comment boosted my confidence about the insertion! THANK YOU!

As for their parents, well, you're just going to have to keep reading, won't you?

Aerobabe: I agree, the second movie is long in coming. I hope this makes the time go by a little faster. It seems to be working for me!

Alexwacrap: Yes, exams most definitely are a pain in the backside. I'm sure yours will go over well though. Best of luck! Thanks for reviewing again and I'm sorry about the delay in chapters! I should be able to keep up now that the school year's coming to an end!

Thank you so much to everyone who even read this, especially those who took the time to review. It means a lot to know that people are keeping up with my work!