Allrighty then, guys. Hey, check me out: two updates in the same month. With the date still in the single-digits, even! Mark your calendars, I could be making history.

First of all, my big ol' thank you to everybody who's given me feedback. (And I posted my last chapter without a thank you section – shame on me.) I know I didn't get all of you e-mailed back with individual thanks for your reviews, and that's something I try to do, 'cause I certainly appreciate it when people take the time to drop me a few words about my work. So again, to the people I haven't mailed back, and even to the ones I have – thanks, guys.

Disclaimers are, of course, the same. I own nobody. None of them. Not a one.

…………………………………………

"I understand you wanted to see me…Captain."

Barbossa didn't like the way Bootstrap said the word, like it was some private joke. Like Turner was mocking him.

"Pull up a chair, Bootstrap."

Turner seated himself, his tall form slouched casually in the chair, one foot hooked across the opposite knee, hands folded on his stomach. He regarded Barbossa with an expression of patient interest that was unsettling. Anyone else on board would have been anything from uncomfortably anxious to terrified spitless when called before him. Bootstrap looked like he could sit there all day and not so much as twitch.

"This is quite the dilemma we have before us, mate," Barbossa said heavily, reaching into his vest pocket and removing the three Aztec coins he'd had there; the latest bunch recovered. There were dark, crusted stains on them; the bangtail Ragetti had found them in the possession of had been somewhat unwilling to part with them. Her thumbs had made the return trip along with the coins in the one-eyed pirate's purse. Barbossa laid the gold down on the table, one ragged nail tapping pensively. "Bit like chasing leaves in the wind, ain't it?"

"Something to be said for saving back for a rainy day," Bill commented, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Barbossa chuckled, dry and low in his throat. "You're a funny man, Bootstrap."

"Aye, well, you've got to be able to laugh in the face of adversity, don't you?"

"It has been brought to my attention, Bootstrap, that while we're laboring away trying to track these venomous little beauties down, we haven't heard from you yet as to the number and last known whereabouts of your coins." Jaundiced blue eyes fixed Turner with a stiletto-blade look. "It would be quite helpful if we had a starting point for our searching."

Turner scratched his throat thoughtfully. "No doubt."

Barbossa laid both hands on the table, leaning forward. "Where'd you spend it at, Bootstrap?"

"Fact of the matter is, Captain Barbossa, I didn't spend it."

Grey eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Your share's still here?"

"Never took full share." There was something in Turner's eyes Barbossa didn't like.

"All right. How much did you take?"

"Very little, Captain." He spit the word this time, like it tasted bad.

Barbossa was growing impatient. "But you never spent it," he growled, gnarled fingers wrapping around the arms of his chair. "It's still here."

"I never spent it. But I never said it was still here."

Barbossa's hands clenched involuntarily on the wood of the chair. On its little metal swing at the front of the room, his monkey chattered belligerently.

"Where's your gold, Bill Turner?"

"Can't help you with where it is. Only with where it isn't." Bootstrap's eyes flicked towards the monkey, and disgust pinched his face. "Wretched animal," he observed, and brought his gaze back to meet Barbossa's. "Vicious. Full of parasites."

"How many coins did you take, Bill Turner?" Barbossa demanded, rising up out of his chair.

"Doesn't belong in here." Turner followed Barbossa's ascension with his eyes, but never moved a muscle. "In this cabin."

"Answer the question, Bootstrap. How many coins did you take?"

"Getting his filth all over everything--"

"How many fucking coins did you take?" Barbossa roared, lunging forward and slamming one fist down on the table, kicking over the chair behind him.

Bill Turner smiled, smiled like he was still tasting the cream and the canary, and Barbossa felt the closest thing to nausea his unfeeling body could manage.

"One, Hector," Turner said. "Only one."

……………………………………

The weight of the morning air promised heat to surpass the previous day's. The clouds were high, distant, almost the same shade of hazy blue as the rest of the sky. It was the sort of day that dragged down mind as well as body.

Which was unfortunate for Lieutenant Gillette, whose mind sometimes had trouble treading water on its best days. It wasn't so much that he lacked intelligence as it was that he tended towards a less active sort of thinking. He didn't subject his brain to a lot of heavy lifting. Show him white wool, and it would never occur to him to check for fur under the fleece.

With a bland, gentlemanly smile, Gillette opened the pasture gate and let the wolf in.

"Mr. Yorrick, is it?" he said, stepping out to join the man waiting in the courtyard of the fort. "Lieutenant Franklin Gillette. My man informed me you have questions about some of our prisoners."

"That's correct, sir," Bill Turner replied, removing his hat. "I've come on behalf of a friend of mine. He's ill, or he would have come himself. Some years ago he lost most of his kin in a raid on his town."

Gillette gave a sympathetic shake of his head. "Terrible business."

"Aye, sir, that it was. But not long ago, news reached his ear that some of those involved in that raid had been captured. The ship responsible, sir, was the Black Pearl."

Gillette nodded. "I'm pleased to tell you that your friend was correctly informed, Mr. Yorrick. We took a great number of that ship's crew into custody."

"And…have they all been put to death?"

"Most of them have, yes. A small few still await the noose in our prison here."

Bill drew a slow breath, and his response came on a sigh. "That news is most welcome."

Gillette laid a hand on his shoulder. "You can assure your friend that justice has been done for his family."

Not quite yet, lad, but soon now. "But are they well-guarded, sir? No chance of them escaping?"

"Most definitely not!" Gillette replied sharply, defensively. "Those that remain will make the walk to the gallows without incident, I promise you."

Bill ducked his head abashedly. "Forgive me, sir. It's only…just the thought of these men somehow slipping away after what they've done…" he turned away, leaning on one hand against the stone wall, head hanging.

"Put it from your mind, Mr. Yorrick," Gillette said firmly. "Those captives are under armed guard day and night. They're even kept in a separate corridor from the other prisoners."

Bill's head lifted, eyes burning, and he did not turn back to Gillette. "Separate, you say," he replied, quietly. Very quietly. "With their own guards, as well, aye?"

There was the barest moment of hesitation from the other man, and Bill closed his eyes, willing the apprehension back into them before he faced Gillette. Come now, king's soldier. Reassure a poor ignorant sailor. Rattle your saber for us a bit.

"The pirates are, of course, assigned their own guards, Mr. Yorrick. They are quite secure." Gillette grinned a bit then, and leaned in close. "Between us, Mr. Yorrick, more secure than they need to be. This bunch that's left…they're the sort that can't manage to wipe their backsides without orders and instructions."

Bill nodded. That sort has its uses, Lieutenant Franklin Gillette. "That's very comforting, sir. I must thank you again for your time. The information has been…invaluable."

"Not at all, Mr. Yorrick, not at all. I hope your friend finds some measure of peace from this." He extended his hand, and Bill grasped it firmly.

"I'm sure he will, sir."

………………………………

A separate corridor. A separate corridor with their own guards. Away from the other prisoners.

The other prisoners…the other cells…what would draw the guards to the other cells?

How many are on each corridor? They won't all go…someone will stay. Someone will stay on that corridor…

How many would go? How many guards would they leave watching the crew? Maybe just one, if the disturbance was big enough. One, to keep an eye on men already under lock and key. It would only take one.

Only one. One would be enough.

One guard. One coin. One shot.

One shot to make it stop when he couldn't take any more. That had been Barbossa's mercy: one shot.

One survivor. Only one. One left alive, curled in an empty crate in the galley. The rest of them had been butchered, and there was just this one skinny stowaway left, walking on legs shaky with hunger and shock and days of disuse, leaning heavily on Bill, who held him around the shoulders, shielding Jack's eyes with his hand when they emerged above decks and the daylight made the lad whimper and flinch.

"You found 'im, Turner," Bill's captain said briskly, with a doubtful look at the discovery, "you take care of 'im."

"I will." Bill informed him, and chuckled when a voice, no less indignant for its weakness, grumbled at them both.

"'m not a fucking puppy, y'know."

"Could've fooled me, lad. You bite like a bloody bulldog."

One week. One week before Jack slept at night, after that.

"Mind if I keep watch with you, mate?"

A small smile, a jerk of his head, inviting Jack to lean against the rail with him.

"Why aren't you asleep, lad?"

Dark eyes stared out at darker water. "Not tired."

"Yes you are."

Jack just rested his chin on his folded arms.

"You can close your eyes for a bit, if you'd like. I'm right here."

For that he earned a gaze that was partly amused and partly annoyed. "What, you goin' to keep the monsters away, Bill?"

"Yes. I am." Soft and serious, and Jack didn't look amused or annoyed then.

One cry, one call in the dark, was all it had ever taken to rouse Bill from sleep when Will had a nightmare. Only one.

"Papa!" Wide eyes and a quivering chin in the lanternlight.

"Papa's here, Will." Bill's large hand ruffled the little boy's hair, and he sat down on the edge of Will's narrow bed. "What's got my brave lad so frightened?"

"It's back, Papa," and this in a loud whisper.

Bill leaned over, his forehead almost touching Will's. "What's back?" he whispered, just as loudly.

Will swallowed, and pointed over the edge of the bed.

"Ohhh," Bill nodded knowingly. "Here. You hold this." He handed the lantern to the boy, and went to the corner to fetch their wooden training swords. "One for you," he placed the wooden hilt in the lad's hand, putting the lantern on the bedside table, "and one for me." He hefted his own weapon. "Now then, Will, if that nasty bugger should slip by me, you be ready for him, all right?"

Eyes growing bigger by the moment, Will nodded, determination beginning to replace fear.

Bill slyly narrowed his eyes. "That's my lad. All right." Wooden sword in hand, Bill stretched out on his stomach across Will's bed, head and shoulders dangling over the side. Yanking up the edge of the patchwork quilt, Bill growled fiercely, "Any trolls under this bed have to the count of three to remove yourselves, then Will and I are whooping seven kinds of hell out of you, you hear?"

Will giggled then, nervously.

"One."

Will perched on his knees, pushing his pillow out of the way, and adjusted his grip.

"Two." Bill glanced awkwardly back up at his son, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Will nodded.

"Three!" Feet kicking up in the air, Bill launched himself over the side of the bed, twisting around and crawling under it. Various fearsome grumblings issued forth, and then came the clunking sound of a wooden blade jabbing at shadows, cobwebs, and what might have been a hairball from Cathleen's cat.

Will peered over the edge, giggling a bit louder now, but still holding his sword at the ready, just in case.

After a couple minutes of this, Bill emerged, sat on the floor with his legs still under the bed, and sneezed.

"Lots of dust, Will," he reported, sniffling. "But no trolls. You didn't see any running away, did you?"

Biting his lip to stifle a grin, Will shook his head.

"Good, good. You think we scared 'em away for keeps last time?"

"Maybe you did, Papa. They aren't scared of me."

"Oh, they should be, if they know what's good for 'em!"

Will shrugged. "Maybe someday."

Chuckling, Bill laid aside the wooden sword and climbed out to sit on the bed again. "'Til then your old man can give you a hand, right?"

The rumpled dark head nodded enthusiastically. "Right!"

One year. Within the space of one year, he'd made the same promise to both of them: he would keep the nightmares, real and imaginary, at bay. He had sat beside each of them, watching as they gave themselves over to sleep, taking him at his word.

Now Bill would deal with the monsters, as he'd promised. Neither of his boys would be able to sleep until he'd taken care of the monsters.

"It'll be all right, lads," Bill spoke aloud without realizing he did so, murmuring low and soft; a voice that had soothed fears, once upon a time. "It'll be all right. Papa's here now."

…………………………………

Jack fumbled with the sweeping brim of the hat on his head, trying to tug it into a position that cast shadow over his face without falling completely over his eyes. "Still don't see why I couldn't have worn me own hat," he grumbled to his companion.

"Because the point was to make you look less like you," Will reminded him in a low voice.

"And more like a bloody mouse under a doily?" Jack retorted.

Will gave him an annoyed glance. "It's not that big, Jack. Besides, you're the one who wanted to come with me."

"Yes, well, one day of stimulating conversation with your donkey was quite enough, thanks ever so."

"I'm sure he agrees," Will muttered.

"What was that?" Jack demanded.

Will shook his head. "I didn't say anything."

"You did so."

"No, I didn't!"

"Did." Jack stuck his foot out sideways, and Will stumbled over it, then reached over and brought a hand up behind the pirate's head, knocking the hat down over Jack's face in front. "Will, I am going to beat you stupid when we get back to the forge, I swear." He grabbed the hat in both hands and righted it. A second later it was slapped down in front again. "Stop that!" he growled out through gritted teeth.

"Shh!" Will scolded, trying not to laugh. "Keep your voice down. We're going to get caught."

Jack glared, adjusting the hat once more. "Bratty bleedin' whelp."

They wove their way through the morning crowds as they crossed the docks. Will was actually grateful for the number of people around them; the thicker the crowd, the less attention people paid to individuals. Will had some supplies for the forge coming in, and Jack had convinced the younger man to let him tag along, on the condition Jack dress himself in some of Will's clothes and not do anything that would get them both arrested. Jack had actually voiced more adamant complaints about the first stipulation, agreeing only when Will promised he wouldn't have to wear anything that had a feather on it. "Fine for you if you fancy dressin' like Barbossa's younger sister, but don't be coming at me with any of that, William," had been his exact words on the matter.

A little while later, Jack suitably, if unhappily, disguised in some of Will's work clothes and a substantial amount of hat, they'd been seated in Will's cart, drawn by a horse borrowed from a neighbor craftsman, who got the mare shoed for free in return for allowing Will her services on the occasional errand. They had arrived at the docks before the ship carrying Will's cargo had unloaded, and so had decided to do some wandering while they waited. "Decided" meaning that Jack had taken off on foot in a random direction, leaving Will the choice of going along or standing with the cart and horse like a useless dolt.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Will asked the pirate as they moved along the waterfront.

"I'm not looking for anything, whelp," Jack informed him, wearing that small, mildly infuriating smile. "Don't you ever just look? Observe? Take it all in?"

"I rarely have time. I'm too busy doing to bother with looking."

"That is the single most tragic thing I've heard you say since I got here, Will." Jack turned around, walking backwards so he could face Will as he spoke, though the presence of the borrowed hat meant that he had to tip his chin back quite a way to manage the desired eye contact. "And considering some of the pessimistic, melancholy utterances you've made me party to, that's a weighty statement."

"I'm not pessimistic or melancholy." Will argued.

Jack snorted.

"What? I'm not!"

"Oh, yes, you're a bouncing ball of undiluted sunshine. You know, you and Anamaria would probably get on splendidly, except I'd be afraid the two of you in close vicinity would plunge the entire Caribbean into an eternal rainy season." Will opened his mouth, undoubtedly to protest again, but Jack plunged on. "As I was saying, you need to stop occasionally, Will."

"Stop what?"

"Just stop. Stop doing things, all those busy tedious time-chewing things, and relax. Be idle. For five bloody minutes now and then, be idle, and watch the world move. It will let you back on, you know."

"Yes, but how much faster do you have to move to catch up once it has?" Will pointed out.

"You haven't learned yet, William," Jack said, shaking his head. "The trick is to make the world dance to your lead."

Will grinned. "Easy as that, is it?"

"Yes, it is, if you let it be. It's making it complicated that takes work."

"You must run an interesting ship, Captain Sparrow."

"You'd be impressed." Jack paused then, and pressed a finger to his lips thoughtfully, before wagging it in Will's direction. "There's a thought."

Will rolled his eyes. "Oh, God, another one?"

"Shut up." There was inspiration in Jack's eyes, and Will knew enough to be afraid. "I should. It'd be for your own good."

"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Will ordered.

Jack pouted. "Fine, but first you have to let me say it. Once I've said it, I'll stop thinking about it."

"That explains a lot." Noting Jack's expression, Will threw his hands up. "Fine. Tell me your idea, Jack." Similar words had probably preceded the destruction of Atlantis.

"I should kidnap you and Elizabeth after your wedding. A month on my Pearl and neither one of you would ever want to come back." Jack's self-assured smile faded a bit at the look on his friend's face. "What?"

Will blinked startled eyes slowly, recalling his thoughts the previous morning. "I'm just thinking that I need to be careful what I wish for." Glancing back the way they'd come, he stopped. "It looks like they're unloading. We need to get back."

Jack crossed his arms and stared hard at Will, who heaved a huge sigh.

"I want to get back, and get my things. Better?"

"Marginally." He fell into step at Will's side. "So what've you got coming in? Smuggled weapons? Stolen jewels? Scantily-clad harem girls?"

"Harem girls, yes. I thought they'd make a nice wedding present for Elizabeth."

"You know, Will, pleased as I am to see you honing your sarcasm to as fine an edge as the rest of your weapons, what say you point it in another direction?" Jack suggested, but his eyes glittered with amusement.

Collecting Will's cargo took a while longer than Jack possessed the patience to stand still for, so while the younger man was seeing to his business, Jack drifted off in another direction, though not far. He smiled at and spoke to nearly every person he passed, tipping the irritating hat at the women, and coming eventually to a familiar sight: the harbormaster's high desk.

Lips quirking in mischievous nostalgia, Jack threw a cautious glance over his shoulder at Will, who was still busy.

There was no sign of the harbormaster at the podium or anywhere nearby. There was also, to Jack's disappointment, no sign of the harbormaster's purse, but he supposed the silly bugger had learned to hang on to it after the last time it had been stolen. All that remained was the docking log.

Well, the docking log and a couple of quills.

He shouldn't. Will would be pissed, and besides, it was beyond immature.

Jack had gotten as much as "for a good time, look up" written down when Will materialized behind him and grabbed him by the elbow, making Jack jump a foot and sending the log book to the ground.

"What in the name of God are you doing?" Will hissed, livid and horrified.

"Jesus, Will, don't sneak up on a man like that!" Jack groaned.

"Put it back. Put it back. Put it back and stop touching things."

Jack rolled his eyes and gathered the book up, setting it back as he'd found it.

"Jack. Get that out of there," Will said tightly, indicating the not-yet-dry ink of Jack's handiwork.

"Why would I have bothered writing it if it I were going to take it out?"

"Quickly!" Will added, tightening his fingers frantically on Jack's arm, and reaching past the pirate to rip out the vandalized page, bringing several others along with it in his haste. "Do something with this," Will said under his breath, shoving the sheets into Jack's hands and hauling the other man bodily towards the loaded and waiting cart.

Jack stuffed the pages into his jacket pocket as he climbed into the seat. "That was a bit of an overreaction, don't you think, William? Not like I was going to put Elizabeth's name in there."

Will ignored that. He flicked the reins and got them moving, taking a deep breath as he glanced around to see if the commotion they'd made had been noticed, but there was no one pointing or shouting as of yet. As far as Will was concerned, a lack of pointing and shouting was always reassuring when Jack was involved.

Turning incredulously towards the pirate, Will opened his mouth to ask Jack if he'd ever been dropped on his head as a child, and was quite astonished to instead hear the words, "Whose name were you going to write?" come out of his mouth.

Leaning back in the seat and propping one foot up in front of him, Jack tipped the hat down to lie across his face. "Norrington's."

Will stared. And then he started to laugh.

……………………………………

Elizabeth was waiting for them when they arrived back at the shop.

"Out on the town today, gentlemen?" she asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Will.

"Oh, you know, darling. Morning errands, trip to the docks, defacing other people's property…"

"Technically, it's my property that's been defaced," Jack spoke up, tossing the hat onto a table with a flick of his wrist and tugging his hair free of its ponytail. "Seeing as how I'm the one currently in possession of it."

"Yes," Will agreed, "because you stole it. It was someone else's while you were defacing it."

"Well, certainly, if you want to see just how thin you can split the hair…"

"Do you know what would be nice?" Elizabeth interjected, smiling pleasantly. "If you actually made it to the party you snuck into town to attend without getting shot. Wouldn't that be lovely, Jack?"

"Don't you worry your pretty head about me, Lizzie-love," Jack said, breezing by her and tapping the tip of her nose as he went. Then suddenly he pulled up short, leaning in close to her. "You have something on your forehead, did you know?"

Elizabeth raised a self-conscious hand to the mark, her jaw set. "Yes, it's a bruise. I…bumped the wall yesterday."

"Ah." Jack scrutinized her brow a moment longer, then shrugged. "Well, it'll be under a mask." He dropped with boneless grace into a chair in the corner. "Anyway, as I was saying…I haven't come all this way and gone to all this trouble to miss the festivities by getting meself into hot water."

"Oh!" Elizabeth said brightly, pushing off from the table she'd been leaning against. "Funny you should mention hot water, Jack. I finished your coat; it's upstairs in Will's room, and I made you a mask. But there is one other thing we need to take care of before tonight."

"And what might that be, love?"

She picked up the bar of soap she'd brought from her house along with the coat, and tossed it to Jack.

"Your bath," she replied, her grin never faltering.

……………………………………

Bill cast his eyes around the street; one of Port Royal's less aesthetic. A far cry from what one would find on Tortuga, but Bill had a feeling it would have what he was shopping for. He sized up one dirty, heat-wilted face after another, until his attention was grabbed and held by a gaunt man in a once-white shirt, standing in a doorway, holding a flask in one hand and trying to pretend as if he wasn't watching Bill out of the corner of his eye.

Bill crossed the narrow street, making a straight, unhurried line to where the man hovered on a sagging stoop. As he approached, the other man stopped his sideways appraisal of Bill, turning away without moving away.

"Something about me that interests you?" he asked mildly, stopping just beside the man.

The other swung around as if just noticing Bill, and he shook his head. "Nah, mate," he replied, seemingly interested in everything but Bill himself all of a sudden.

Bill nodded, looking away, down the street, as he reached into an inside pocket and withdrew his fingers with money glinting between them. "How about now?"

The man licked chapped lips. "Now you have my undivided attention, mate."

"Tell me, Mr. Smith, do you have any friends who might also be looking for employment?"

"My name ain't--"

Bill cocked his head to the side, a tiny frown creasing his brow, and the man stopped talking.

"As I was saying, Mr. Smith," Bill continued, "have you any friends?" The coins in his fingers grated as he rubbed them together.

"Yeah, sure, mate, Like how many friends?"

"One. And Mr. Smith, attempt to locate that one without inquiring through half the bloody town for somebody. We don't need a dozen men who've declined the offer familiar with its existence."

Swallowing dryly, the man nodded his understanding. "What exactly's gonna be involved in this 'employment', mate?"

Bill smiled, slipping his money away for the time being. "I need you to get arrested, Mr. Smith. Tonight."

TBC