Will stood at the top of the gang plank, facing the long pier leading to the beach and the mists beyond. He stared at the gathering crowd of souls come to escort their loved ones on the rest of their journey. As he had long come to expect, his mother was there waiting on him. In his mind, he mulled over the curious fact that he was both overcome with sadness, and yet completely elated, at the thought of what was to come. He would once again have to bid farewell to his mother for an untold number of years… but his long awaited and anticipated reunion with Elizabeth was close at hand. It struck him odd at how many events there had been in his short lifetime that had simultaneously elicited such extremes in emotion. Surely that wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The light breeze from earlier was beginning to pick up into an outright wind. The air felt unusually damp—it was far cooler than anything he had ever experienced for this time of year. He briefly considered returning to his cabin to retrieve his coat, but decided against it. It was a little on the chilly side for his tastes, but not entirely uncomfortable. Will glanced up and noticed the clouds continuing to gather. They were now distinctly thicker than before, but had not, as yet, obscured the full, pumpkin-orange moon that commanded a significant portion of the night sky. He felt the skin on his arms tingle with a charge he commonly associated with lightning. He thought it odd that he had not noticed any. It was certainly not the kind of thing he was prone to miss. It may never rain here, but thunder and lightning were not unheard of. Will found the unusual combination, or perhaps lack of, certain weather conditions more than a little puzzling.

Will quelled his curiosity about the meteorological curiosity as he continued to watch his charges make their way ashore. Some practically ran down the gangplank as they recognized long unseen family members and rejoiced in unanticipated happy reunions. Some were more hesitant as they disembarked, for they had either not yet seen any one waiting for them, or were unsure of their final destination. And still, there were a few who slowly shuffled down the gangplank and down the pier, knowing that where they were going was not a place of peace and solitude and that there would never be anyone who wanted to see them. At first, Will had felt sorry for those souls, but had since come to accept that they were now paying for the choices they had made in life. He sometimes liked to imagine that Cutler Beckett had been one of those shuffling souls. If any man deserved a seat in hell, he was certainly the one – if not for what he had done to nearly destroy Will and Elizabeth's lives, then for all the innocent people he had, directly or indirectly, murdered in his quest to control the seas.

Will's eyes followed the last of the souls as she made her way down the pier and disappeared into the mist. Now the crew members who wanted to lay aside their commitment to the Flying Dutchman, and move on to the other side themselves, lined up on the deck. Most times there weren't any, but tonight there were two. Will was not surprised - for one of them had discovered his wife among those that had been ferried this day and the other had found life at sea not to his liking. The whole process of the crew members requesting their release was merely a formality. Who was Will to say no? He had been counting the days until he regained his freedom for ten years now. If anyone understood the desire to leave the ship behind it was Will Turner.

The next to disembark were the crew members who wanted shore leave to visit with any family they might have. It appeared as if Will would be the only one to take advantage of the opportunity tonight. Aside from Bootstrap and himself, that left six remaining crew members unaccounted for. Will recalled that three of them had just joined the ship on their last voyage in. That normally indicated that they had no one yet to wait for, thus making it unlikely they would want to go ashore. Two of the men were unaccounted for and had therefore missed their chance.

The one remaining was an enigma and had been for years. The man had joined the crew shortly after Will became captain, and had never once in that time even hinted at a desire to leave the ship. He was, at least in Will's opinion, the most unusual addition ever to his crew. There was no doubt that the man was an accomplished sailor, he had been one in life, but he was not the sort of man that Will would have expected to voluntarily serve aboard the Dutchman–and most especially not under Will's command.

Will turned back towards the ship and surveyed the deck searching for the missing men. The only man visible was the one who had most recently been on his mind. The sailor in question was seated straddled across a barrel, not more than ten yards from where Will stood, his long legs nearly dragging the deck. He appeared to be totally oblivious to his surroundings as he sat hunched over, repeatedly stabbing a small knife into the wooden lid. Will thought it odd that he would be there now, as he and Will tended to avoid each other as much as possible—they seldom ever spoke, except for the most cursory of topics or direct orders. Yet, there he sat. The man smirked as he realized Will was watching him. He lifted his head, stared back at Will and raised his eyebrows as if daring his captain to say something.

Will was not in the mood to take the bait – if indeed he was being baited (it was sometimes difficult to tell.) He didn't offer any reaction, but, instead, turned back towards the pier, took a deep breath, and headed down the gang plank to say his final goodbyes.

Meg was waiting in her customary spot, more or less halfway between the ship and the shore. A now-familiar, proud smile emerged from her lips as she observed her son's approach. This was a meeting she had looked forward to and dreaded from the day they had been reunited. The thought that Will would soon be rejoining his own wife and child filled her with gladness—but there was still that one, tiny selfish part of her that did not want him to leave. However, nothing would ever make her admit that to anyone—most especially to Will.

She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against the chill in the air, and nervously smoothed down her skirt for at least the thousandth time, while, in the process, rechecking her pocket to see if the gifts she had for him were still there. Meg understood how unusual and fortunate it was that she had been granted the opportunity to pass along these precious heirlooms to Will and his family. It has always been her intention to pass them along to her children. She certainly had never expected for Will to be her only child nor had she ever thought she would die so young and leave him in such dire circumstances. Life wasn't always fair, but on rare occasions some higher power made up for it.

Will nervously chewed his lower lip as he walked down the pier towards his mother. It was a habit from his childhood that he had, for some unknown reason, revived. It was now full dark and the flickering lanterns lent the dock a mystical and somewhat eerie quality. It also made it more difficult to see very far. Will had no idea what to say to Meg, and yet, at the same time, had so many things he still wanted to tell her. While their time tonight was not as limited as it frequently was, and he instinctively knew there would be no more souls to retrieve this night, he did not want to chance being late for his most important rendezvous. He had to be careful to not spend too much time here, and yet he did not want to miss a single minute with Meg. It made him uneasy to think that the next time he saw his mother, it would be because he really had died. He sincerely hoped that day was far away yet – he had so many things he still wanted to do, and just as many he wanted to make up for. However, his face broke into a full-fledged grin as soon as he spied her, and she remained standing, unmoving, as he quickened his pace to close the gap between them.

"Will!" she cried cheerfully as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

"Mother." He hugged her back, leaned down and kissed the top of her head, noticing, as he did, that she still smelled of the cinnamon and fresh baked bread of his childhood memories. All these years after she had died, those two scents never failed to evoke happy memories of her.

Meg put her hands on his shoulders and studied his face intently. She had done the same thing to him as a child. Then, he had hated it, but now he didn't seem to mind so much. Meg narrowed her eyes as she looked into his. It felt as if she literally could read what was going on in his head, just by peering into his eyes.

"You look happier than usual this evening," she said, pronouncing the results of her evaluation.

Will wrinkled his nose at his mother and grinned – that too another childhood habit he had long abandoned, but had now resurrected. "I am!" he declared as he picked his mother up and spun her around.

"William! What has gotten into you?" Meg tried to sound stern, but failed miserably. She was obviously amused by his actions.

Will set his mother back down and put his hands on her cheeks just as she frequently did to him and flashed her yet another huge grin. "I'm going home," he announced excitedly. "In the morning – I'm finally going home."

Meg reached up and patted one of his cheeks – something she had used to do when he was a little boy and had gotten excited about something. She also broke into a huge grin, but with a hint of sadness reflecting in her eyes. "I know—I've known for quite some time now." Her grin faded, but she still managed a smile. "I know that means this is my last chance to tell you everything I ever wanted, and my last chance to find out the answers I need."

Will crinkled his eyes in confusion. "What answers?"

"How it happened."

"I had hoped you had forgotten about that," he guiltily confessed. He had successfully managed to evade the topic for years, but now it had apparently caught back up to him.

Meg pulled herself from her son's embrace and sat down on the bench that only seemed to appear when she wanted it too. Once again she patted her pocket to check that its contents were still there. She gave Will her best "do what your mother tells you" look and gestured to the space next to her on the bench. "Will, I suggest you accept the fact that there are some things a mother never forgets. The same goes for wives–I have a feeling it might make your life easier in the near future," she proclaimed with a twinkle in her eyes. "Now, I want – no, I need to know how it happened." This time there was no doubt that she intended to obtain the information she sought by whatever means necessary.

Will sat down next to her. He gripped the forward edge of the bench with each hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. He sat totally still and gazed down at his boots for a few moments as he collected his thoughts. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath before looking back at his mother.

"Davy Jones ran me though – here," he said quietly as he reached up and lightly tapped the scar towards the upper left side of his chest. "We were on the Dutchman. I think he pierced a lung – I'm not sure. I just remember the pain, and how I didn't want to die – that I didn't want to leave Elizabeth."

Meg noticed how his voice broke towards the end of his statement, as he returned his hand to its death grip on the edge of his seat. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, if for no other reason than that his obvious discomfort was unsettling to them both. But she knew she could not rest until she knew. She had never confessed her secret to Will, but part of why she hadn't long ago moved on was because she had never come to terms with leaving him behind, or knowing what had become of her husband. It would have been so easy to just tell him the truth. She had no doubt that he would have willingly told her what she needed to know so that she could move on, but she also knew him well enough to know that he would feel responsible for her having been stranded here. And he had suffered far too much already for her to add to his burden.

Will stopped for a moment and stared out at the water as he tried to regain his composure. He had never once, in the ten years since the whole incident had taken place, spoken of his death to anyone. He couldn't bring himself to look at Meg once he continued his story. "Jack had the heart. We had decided that he would stab it and take Jones' place. That way Bootstrap would have been released from his obligation while Elizabeth and I would be free to be together, but….." his voice broke off – the memory of that event was obviously taxing to him.

"Jack? Jack Sparrow?" Meg's voice was horror stricken.

Will's eyes widened at his mother's question. Did she too know Jack?

"Yes," Will confirmed. "Do you know him?" His confusion and curiosity would have been clear to anyone who might have been eavesdropping, but, fortunately, there were no such people around at the moment. He was normally quite adept at controlling his reactions to unexpected turns of events, but this one had seriously caught him off guard.

"I would say I know more of him than actually know him. It doesn't matter—please continue." Meg reached over and covered his right hand with hers. She was fighting to retain her own composure now too. She had expected the tale to be hard for her to hear, but she had never imagined it to be this difficult. Surely there were no higher powers that intended for a mother to listen to a first hand account of her only child's pain and suffering not to mention his untimely "death." It had been easy to convince herself that Will's obligation to the ship was retribution for some imagined slight against the heathen gods that controlled the sea. A wave of apprehension and fear washed over her as she prepared herself for what Will might say next. She also hadn't expected to learn that Jack Sparrow had been involved. A knot formed in her stomach as she wondered how was it that the elusive Captain Sparrow always seemed to be connected to any difficulties the Turner family encountered.

"But Jack didn't stab the heart, did he?" Meg asked softly.

"No," Will sighed. He wanted to know more of what his mother knew of the self proclaimed illustrious Captain Jack Sparrow, but he knew he needed to first finish his account of the day he had become captain of the Flying Dutchman. He took another deep breath and resumed his tale. "Bootstrap held off Jones while Jack helped me to do it. I didn't have the strength left to do it myself. I was dying." Will's normally calm demeanor was slowly, but surely, returning. He turned his hand over and grasped his mother's tightly in his, as he turned back to look her in the face. "I couldn't leave her. We had waited for each other so long, and had overcome so many obstacles just to be together, I couldn't do it. We had to take the chance that we could break the curse. We had been married for under an hour."

Meg drew in a startled breath as the knot in her stomach tightened. Bootstrap had told her that Will and his wife hadn't been married long before they were so cruelly parted, but she had just assumed it had been a matter of days or weeks. The idea that it had been mere minutes was almost unthinkable. She knew he often mentioned how much he regretted missing his son's birth and so much of his childhood, but she had never once considered the possibility that he had not even known of Elizabeth's pregnancy when he had to leave. She now realized that not even Elizabeth would have known. Meg clearly remembered how difficult and painfully lonely it was to raise a child alone. Bootstrap had left to go pirating by his own choice - abandoning her to raise Will on her own. His actions were the direct cause of her plight – so she had, at very least, somewhere to direct her anger and frustration.

No matter how emotionally painful her own situation had been it could never compare to what Elizabeth was expected to endure. According to Will she had no living relatives – or at least none that were close. Will was all she had. Had Elizabeth even wanted the child she was raising alone? Again, the way Will talked about their son led Meg to believe that the answer was yes, but certainly neither of them would have chosen to start a family under their peculiar circumstances. Meg also had the freedom to take her son and move on if she had so chosen – Bootstrap may never even have known or, for that matter, even cared. Elizabeth didn't have that liberty. She obviously knew what the consequences for Will would be if she did anything other than wait faithfully for his return. Will's quiet confidence in his wife choices spoke volumes about their relationship. His reaction alone led Meg to believe that Elizabeth had never once waivered about her decision. Meg's heart went out to the young woman that she had never met nor would never know. She also now knew that she could move on if she chose—assured that Will had chosen wisely when he gave Elizabeth his heart–both in terms of his undying love for her, and trusting her to keep safe the one in the Dead Man's Chest.

"If she is but half as devoted to you as you are to her, then I can accept you going back and be happy for you–for both of you. Although, I won't lie and say I won't miss you terribly." It was as close as she would ever come to giving her approval to the path he had chosen in life. What mother couldn't help but to be completely nonplussed at the idea of her only child choosing to have his own beating heart cut from his chest and then chance spending eternity in the land of the death–and yet be neither dead nor entirely living? Will had done what he felt he had needed to do. She couldn't exactly argue with him about it now.

"I just need to know one more thing," Meg ventured.

Will winced internally. He knew what was coming and had hoped to never have to tell his mother what she still pursued to know.

"Did you cut out your own heart like Davy Jones?"

"No," Will answered softly.

"Then who did?"

"Bootstrap."

"WHAT?" Meg looked horrified, entirely expecting the answer to once again be Jack Sparrow. "How could he do such a thing?"

Will did not answer his mother. In fact, it seemed as if he had not heard her—his eyes flashed suddenly with panic, quickly narrowing in shock and then widening in surprise. His expression slowly morphed into a narrow-eyed mask of confusion with one eyebrow raised questioningly.

Meg had never seen Will look so completely perplexed. She noticed that his gaze had shifted to a point over her right shoulder, further down the pier, but had no idea what he could have seen to have caused such a reaction. She shifted her position on the bench to turn around and see what or who could have so quickly diverted his attention from her.

The only other souls currently on the pier were an older man with a significantly younger woman at his side. They were obviously a couple. They were standing some twenty yards away – locked arm in arm, the woman frequently glancing up adoringly at the man while lightly patting his arm in reassurance. Meg could only assume that he was her husband. She couldn't say for sure, but she got the distinct impression that the man was uneasy about something. Being here? Seeing Will, perhaps? Were they awaiting someone who they had not found?

Meg restrained her rampant curiosity and refocused on trying to figure out who these people were. It was difficult to make out their features at this distance—even with the full moon and dozens of lanterns lining either side of the pier. But Meg could see that the man was wearing one of the white wigs so common among the upper class of British society. Meg judged him to be a few inches taller than Will, but much older – possibly by as many as thirty years. He was dressed in an elegant, deep yellow, brocaded waistcoat and matching coat over breeches the exact same shade of yellow. His exquisite white silk shirt and cravat appeared costly and well made, on his feet were the knitted silken socks and shoes with shiny metal buckles that many men commonly wore. Whoever the man was, he must have been quite important in life.

The woman was wasn't overly tall, but she was most definitely taller than Meg. Truthfully, most people were taller than Meg's petite 5'2." It was difficult to discern her age at the distance they were, and with the shortage of light, but Meg would have guessed her to be considerably younger than her husband. She realized, of course, that was quite possibly just Meg's perception of her, and might have not been the case when she had been alive. She was wearing an incredibly beautiful ivory satin dress trimmed in what had to be several yards of delicate white lace – even her slippers were of the same color satin. Her dark blonde hair was pulled up and artfully arranged on her head. She wore what appeared to be a pearl choker around her slim neck. Matching earrings dangled delicately from her ear lobes. She was quite easily one of the loveliest women Meg had ever seen.

Meg turned back towards Will and noticed he was still staring quite intently at the couple. His face remained devoid of expression as he nodded to them in acknowledgement. Meg halfway believed that if she just disappeared at that very moment that he would perhaps not even have noticed. She did not, however, have any intentions of trying it. Whoever they were, Will obviously knew them, or at least knew who they were.

"Will?" she hissed sharply in an attempt to regain his attention.

Will blinked once or twice before emerging from his daze and refocusing on his mother. He offered no explanation for his reaction to the other couple on the pier, he simply looked as if he expected her to already know the answer to her as yet unasked question. That was all the proof Meg needed to verify that the couple were somehow significant to him, as she was the one with all the unanswered questions–or at least she assumed that was the case.

"Will, do you know them?" she gently inquired. She couldn't imagine how he possibly could be intimately acquainted with people who were obviously of a much higher social class than the Turner family had ever been, or had ever really aspired to be for that matter.

Will's eyes shifted to look at the man and woman again before looking back at his mother.

"Yes – I," Will paused. "I mean, no. I mean—I know him, but I've never met her. I've never seen her. She died…" he stammered.

In the few years that Meg had been able to visit with her son between voyages, she had never once seen him quite so unnerved. She didn't really need or want one more mystery to solve before he went back to where he belonged, but Meg's curiosity was bound to get the best of her. She couldn't help it. It was just how she functioned.

"Who are they?"

"She looks so much like her," Will whispered in awe, his attention drawn, once again, to the other couple—most particularly to the woman.

Confusion compounded Meg's curiosity to the point it was almost unbearable. "She looks like who?"

Even as the words came out of her mouth, she realized. Meg twisted around suddenly to stare open mouthed at the woman. She didn't care if it appeared rude–for this was a most unexpected turn of events for the evening. She knew she had no hope of ever meeting Elizabeth, but now she would at least have a similar face to put with the name. The realization that the man must be Elizabeth's father slowly crept into her consciousness. Things were starting to make sense to her now and at the same time become more confusing. Will had mentioned, almost in passing, that Elizabeth's father had not approved of him as a suitable match for her. Meg had assumed, wrongly it seemed, it was because of his uncertain parentage. They had assumed him to be an orphan, after all. It had never crossed her mind that Will had married so far above his station.

"Are those Elizabeth's parents? Who were they?" Meg asked, sounding every bit as stunned as she truly was.

He directed his attention back to his mother. "Yes. That's Governor Swann and his wife. Or, at least, I assume that's who she is. I thought she was Elizabeth when I first saw her. It startled me," he confessed.

"I noticed," his mother replied with raised eyebrows. "What's her name?"

Will looked up towards the sky with a serious expression on his face. It was quite apparent that he was desperately trying to locate some scrap of long unused information. He lowered his face back to level with Meg's and shook his head.

"I don't remember exactly. I seem to recall Elizabeth mentioning that she had a title, but I just don't know," he shrugged his shoulders and sighed in frustration.

"William Turner, what do you mean? You don't know your own wife's mother's name? What were you planning on calling her? Surely I taught you some manners!"

Will looked stunned. He hadn't expected anything remotely like the minor scolding he has just gotten.

Before he thought, he shot back, "What did it matter? I wasn't planning on ever meeting her. She's dead–just like everyone else in this place."

Meg winced at his outburst then exhaled sharply in amusement. "I think we can safely say your tendency towards rash behavior was a gift–or curse as the case may be–from me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that," he responded, truly sounding remorseful.

"It was nothing," she said, and meant it. Meg offered him a faint smile by way of apology. "Now, think."

His brow furrowed in concentration as he struggled to recall anything else he knew about his long deceased mother-in-law. His eyes suddenly lit up. "Josephine. Her name is Josephine. I remember now: Elizabeth said that if we ever had a daughter that's what she wanted to name her. I don't think she ever considered that I might want to have a say in the matter. She wasn't very happy when I told her I didn't like it," he smiled and laughed as he spoke, obviously enjoying the memory.

"That would be a lovely name," Meg offered, all the while picturing a prim, proper and perfectly behaved little girl with dark brown curls like her father's. She quickly banished the vision from her mind. Meg knew Will's personality quite well. And if Elizabeth was indeed anything like he—or Bill—had described her, a child like that would never exist. Meg imagined something more along the lines of a decidedly tomboyish granddaughter who pulled her hair up under a hat and wore breeches whenever she could get away with it, a girl who terrorized her older brother with a wooden sword, a child that as soon as she was old enough to speak would modify the overly fussy name to something much less sophisticated and more piratey sounding – something like Sophie… The image made Meg chuckle to herself.

"What are you laughing at?" Will both sounded and looked perplexed.

Meg shook her head. "It's nothing. Just something that crossed my mind. Now – don't you think should go talk to them?" She gestured toward the Swanns with her head. "They are your in-laws after all. I'll wait for you. I've waited this long, what's a few more minutes?" She reached up and dusted some nonexistent dirt from Will's collar. He did look like a pirate—there was nothing she could do about that now. She stopped herself and pulled back her hand before it began to look like she was fussing over him like she was about to send him off to his first day of school.

Will leaned forward and kissed his mother's cheek. "Thank you. You're right," he admitted.

"I told you to never doubt a mother's word. I know of what I speak," she said only half jokingly. "Now, go!"

Will stood up and brushed his hands on his breeches. He wasn't exactly nervous, but he wasn't entirely relaxed either. He drew a deep breath and began his walk down the pier towards his wife's parents wondering why they were here and what they could possibly want with him.