It took all of Will's concentration to maintain his focus on where he was headed, and to not give in to the temptation to turn around and steal once last glimpse of his mother. He knew she was still there, and would be until the ship was completely out of sight. He also realized that it would make this parting that much more difficult on them both if he didn't just keep going—he was fairly well acquainted with events of this nature. This time at least, he had been able to tell her goodbye. It wasn't as if many people were ever given that chance. Thankfully, the short walk back to the Dutchman was over almost before he had a chance to think about it.
Crew members began their frenzied preparations to make sail, the second Will's boots touched the deck. There wasn't even any need for him to shout orders—if nothing else, the Flying Dutchman ran like a well oiled machine. And it was no secret among the crew where the ship's next destination would be.
The only question on their minds concerned who would be captain this time, tomorrow. Captain Turner had never mentioned the conditions of his return to the world of the living, but there were those among the crew who knew what would have to take place in order for that to happen. Likewise, there were crew members who knew the tales of what had transpired with the last captain—what had ultimately turned him into a monster. Out of courtesy to the current captain, no one spoke of what the next few hours could bring in terms of their duty and their obligations to the ship. The general consensus seemed to be that if Captain Turner wasn't worried, then perhaps they shouldn't be, either.
Will stood at the railing for a few minutes as the Dutchman pulled away from the docks. He could still see Meg standing patiently with her hands folded in front of her, watching him closely. Beyond her were Elizabeth's parents—although only her father seemed to be paying any attention to what was happening with the ship. Josephine was staring at the sky- apparently watching and waiting for the storm she had predicted would herald Will's return to the other side and to her daughter. Will, too, looked up at the sky and its ever-growing ceiling of dark, angry clouds. For the first time that evening, he noticed lightning beginning to flash in the distance. The full moon was just as clearly visible as it had been all evening. As he looked back towards the pier and watched the island, or whatever it was, disappear from sight he was struck by how relieved he was to leave it behind. It was the one place, besides the locker, that he didn't think he could bear to see again.
He finally turned from the railing and surveyed the scene around him. Everyone was at work, as they should have been. His services were obviously not required at the moment. More and more frequently the past few months, he had felt at a loss as to what he should do. Every man aboard had responsibilities, and every man carried them out to the letter, leaving Will with little or nothing to do with the operation of the ship. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as he made his way back to his cabin. He had no idea what he would do when he got there, but it was better than standing around on the deck feeling useless.
Will's cabin wasn't overly large. He had been uncomfortable with the massive space that Davy Jones had allotted to himself and had modified the interior. There were now four smaller cabins filling the cavernous room that had housed the massive pipe organ. No one aboard could play it, nor did anyone want to—it had been the first casualty when the ship had been refitted. In all honesty, it was highly unlikely that Davy Jones would have recognized the Flying Dutchman at all. Gone were the layers of barnacles, sea life, algae, and who knew what else, as were deadly triple guns that had graced the bow. Will had insisted that the remaining cannons remain in place - intact and in good repair. After the last battle with the East India Trading Company there had been no need for more than the standard complement—just as there had been no more need to bind hapless sailors to the ship for one hundred years at a stretch.
Will turned the polished brass knob and pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to his private quarters. Normally a crew member would have come through and lit a lamp for him, but tonight it wasn't done. He had given strict orders to be left alone—he assumed that whoever had been in charge of that duty had been hesitant to chance Will being inside and had thus opted to abandon that particular chore. It didn't really matter to Will one way or the other. The bright moonlight flooded in through the glass in the port holes making it possible for him to see–or, at least, to see enough to light the oil lamp himself.
Once he had lit the lone lamp in the center of the table, he sat down on his narrow cot and surveyed the room. If he had been pushed to describe it in one word he would have to have chosen austere. The entire room was paneled in rich mahogany, making the room seem dark on even the sunniest days. The table, with its single chair, sat in the center of the rectangular room. That same well worn piece of furniture doubled as a writing desk. In one corner of the room was yet another chair. This one faced a medium sized window where Will could sit and stare out at the water—one of the things he did when he needed to think. Lately, he had spent countless hours there, impatiently waiting for this day to come. Pushed against one wall was a large, practically empty, metal banded, wooden sea chest with brass fittings containing all his worldly possessions- such as they were. His life style had never exactly leant itself to owning more than he could carry. He had spent his childhood in near poverty. Life as an apprentice had only been slightly better. Circumstance had only afforded him one small taste of how comfortable life might be married to Elizabeth. He couldn't, and wouldn't, think about that now. What was there to be gained worrying about what might have been had fate and destiny not intervened? Besides, what really mattered was being reunited with Elizabeth and their son – not what type of lifestyle they would be able to afford.
Will examined the cot where he spent most nights tossing and turning, but never quite sleeping. It was not much more than a narrow shelf built into an alcove. It was serviceable, but comfortable was the one thing that it was not. Since he and the rest of the crew slept only out of habit, and not need, it had never really bothered him—at least, not until the last few weeks. Now, every time he lay down, all he could think about was how nice it would be to need to sleep again–in a real bed, with Elizabeth curled up next to him.
Will closed his eyes, lay back on the thin mattress, and tried to conjure up her image. It was easy to remember what she looked like, what she sounded like, because he had frequently been able to connect with her in their dreams, but some days it was difficult to remember her scent, or what it felt like to hold her in his arms. However, if he could just hold on, for a scant few hours more, he would no longer have to rely on memory. She would be there, at the beach, waiting for him: the same beach where they had spent so many hours when they were children, and then again after they were officially affianced.
Thinking of his wife and their young son nearly always lulled Will into a trancelike state. It made him feel less alone to try and imagine what they were doing, what they were thinking, or even what plans they were making. The image he constructed in his mind of how this day was progressing for them made him smile. Elizabeth, he knew, was fussing over what she should wear or how to arrange her hair—all the while knowing full well that he wouldn't care if she showed up wearing a gunny sack with her hair a mess—all a part of her way of keeping herself distracted when she grew tired of waiting. Will had no doubt that she was searching for the most frivolous of tasks to do while she waited out the last few hours. He also tried to imagine how and when she would tell William where they were going and why. If he was anything like his mother, he was impatient to a fault, therefore he wouldn't blame her in the slightest if she kept the news from him until the last possible moment – "the opportune moment," as Jack would have said.
Will had no idea how long he had lain in the coffin-like cot, lost in his thoughts, but he knew he should be making some effort to gather up his few belongings and take care of any last minute details. He had every intention of being ready to board the longboat and head to land the second the Dutchman was close enough to allow. It briefly crossed his mind that he wouldn't entirely mind being able to teleport one final time to speed up the process of going ashore, but he understood that it was not possible. He remembered the strange, uncomfortable sensation he had felt the first time he had teleported. It was something he avoided doing, except in extreme cases. And he didn't relish the thought of explaining that particular talent to his son. Will knew that the instant the ship passed between worlds there would be a vivid green flash at which point he would return to being an ordinary mortal. Or, at least, as ordinary as a man living without a heart, having seen all that he had, could be.
That moment could not come fast enough for him.
There was no point in him trying to take the sea chest. Not only was it large and unwieldy, it was practically empty and no different than any other chest he had ever had – save the one obvious exception, of course. The one in Elizabeth's keeping – the one that contained his heart. He sat up in the cot, taking care to keep his head down so as to not bump into the low ceiling, stood up, and strolled over to the trunk. He knelt before it, and stared at it, before lifting the heavy lid. The brass hinges groaned in protest at the action, prompting Will to desperately try to remember the last time he had opened it. He pulled back slightly and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell emanating from the interior. The accompanying dust caused him to sneeze several times before he was able to peer inside and assess the chest's pitiful contents. There were stacks of log books – certainly something he no longer needed; some well worn articles of clothing – no need to take those, Elizabeth would have burned them before twenty-fours are up; and a moderately sized packet of letters – the last of the daily missives he had written to his fledgling family, and had not been afforded the opportunity to pass along.
Knowing he would soon be going home he had sent his own collection of letters from his wife and son back to Port Royal with her of the last time they had a few moments together. Had he known at the time he wouldn't see her again until a few hours from now he would have kept a few back to reread. He might have missed a generous portion of his son's childhood, but Elizabeth had faithfully documented every detail – from the first time he rolled over to his most recent antics with his friends. Will could clearly hear the pride in Elizabeth's words as she described their son – pride that surely showed on his own face as he read her missives. But the notes he missed the most were the ones written by that same child – notes carefully written in a childlike scrawl to a father he did not know, but was anxious to meet; notes to a father that he clearly loved and admired.
Will smiled to himself as he gently picked up the letters— the stack neatly tied with a length of leather cord—and turned them over in his hands. Each one was carefully and neatly addressed to 'Mrs. Elizabeth Turner and Master William Turner' in Will's precise handwriting. It wasn't as if there were anyone else for Will to write to, or anyway to deliver them other than him handing them directly to his wife, but he had found some small comfort in the formality of the process. He had often done the same with the numerous simple notes he had sent to her during their engagement. Although they had surely long been lost, Elizabeth had claimed she kept every single one of them, just as she had surely kept the letters he written to her of his time aboard the Dutchman. These he would take with him. He held the letters in one hand and closed the lid to the chest with the other as he returned to his feet.
It only took a few steps to cover the distance between the chest and the table. Will lay the bundle of letters on its surface and began to rummage for the various trinkets he had stuffed into his pockets. First were the two worn linen handkerchiefs from his mother, each containing what were as close as he had to family heirlooms, followed by the pair of matched drop pearl earrings given to him by Elizabeth's mother. It struck him odd that of all the items spread out before him, the ones that were technically the most valuable, were the ones that the least care had been taken to ensure their safety. He sat down in the lone chair and studied the cache carefully. Surely, that couldn't be all he had to show for his ten years away?
After what seemed like an eternity of contemplating how to transport the jewelry and the letters without chancing the loss of the former or the soaking of the latter, he gave up and decided that his only viable option, at the moment, was to risk putting them all in the pockets of his coat. Surely, there had to be a sack, or a bag, or a pouch or something somewhere on the ship he could use instead? But where would he even begin to look for such a thing? Practically everything on board had been scavenged from a shipwreck. Will had insisted from the start that the crew only take what they need – it felt too much like stealing otherwise, even if the former owners were frequently in route to a place where possessions were no longer necessary.
The coat was the same one he had brought with him ten years earlier, but it was still in very good condition, as he had seldom had call to wear it. Perhaps he would be able to part with it soon too, like the other clothes in the chest? But, for now, he was unwilling to leave it behind. It had served as his successful-wedding coat after all.
Will partially unfolded one of the handkerchiefs and threaded the earrings through the worn fabric. That had to be better than just allowing them to roll around freely in a pocket or what have you. He pushed the chair back from the table, stood up, and put on his coat. He briefly considered leaving his collection in the cabin while he went in search of a serviceable container, but after a moment's consideration, he thought the better of it and slid everything into his pocket. He made a complete rotation, scanning the room for whatever thing that could remotely suit his needs, but did not spy anything, save for a small bundle resting in seat of the chair near the window, apparently forgotten since the last time its contents were used. As soon as Will saw it, he decided that it, too, was something he wanted to take with him. He scowled in annoyance at himself for treating such valuable tools with such carelessness. Hadn't the first rule hehad been taught as an apprentice blacksmith been the importance ofcaring for the tools of his trade? While these tools hadn't always been his, and they definitely were not something he would have normally used in the smithy, he should have known better. He crossed over to the chair and picked up the bundle. Its well oiled, supple leather exterior was rolled into a cylinder. The whole thing was secured with an additional strip of noticeably worn leather. Will untied the cord and unrolled the parcel. The interior contained an extensive collection of carving tools, each nestled in their own custom sized pocket. The collection's previous owner no longer had any use for them where he was headed, and had despaired at the fine tools being left to the sea. He had practically begged Will to take them and care for them. Will had agreed, though not knowing what use he could possibly have for the delicate picks, chisels and knives normally used to make molds for jewelry and other decorative pieces, all the while being intrigued by them. His official trade was blacksmith, but he had long favored sword smithing – a highly specified skill at which he excelled. He had also been blessed with the patience, dexterity, and eye for detail needed to manipulate the fine gold wire needed to inlay hilts with delicate filigree so popular with dress swords. He knew hecouldn't practice smithing of any sort aboard the ship—too much danger of fire, and not too mention the inconvenience of so many interruptions. So, perhaps this would be close enough to at least maintain a small portion of his skills. Who knew—maybe it could even open up some additional opportunities for him? He certainly had no intention of remaining at sea after his obligation here was finished. His next obligation would be something quite the opposite of this one: instead of escorting the dead, teaching his only child about life and all the wonders it held.
Will headed back to the table and placed the now-open tool kit on its worn, scarred surface. It crossed his mind that this would make an excellent place to put his other possessions during the transition. The wrappings were not totally waterproof, but he certainly wouldn't be as likely to lose them, and would also alleviate his need to scour the ship for a more suitable container. Besides, Elizabeth might ask about linen wrapped packages in his pockets. Looking inside a tool kit would never cross her mind– at least he hoped it wouldn't. Hopefully, his plan would make it easier for him to conceal his treasures until a later, more appropriate, time to share with her. They would have enough to deal with just adjusting to living together as a family without adding any complications–and surely the need to explain how he came to be in possession of her mother's earrings would be complicated under the best of circumstances.
Will rolled up the tool kit with its new additions and stuffed it into one of the interior pockets of his coat. He took one last turn around the small cabin to fix its image in his mind. He had a feeling that someone—perhaps Elizabeth; most likely, William—would want to know every detail of his absence. However, he hoped he would not be returning here—not tonight, not ever. Right now, he would much rather be out on the deck, breathing the clean salt air, thinking of his family, and counting the minutes until the first hint of the dawn peeked across the heavens. Will smirked at the thought of what Elizabeth's reaction to his impatience would be: he could almost see her smile and hear her laughter. Will had always been the calmer, steadier one in their relationship, while Elizabeth tended to be the one who had been ready to forge ahead without much thought beforehand. But now he was the one who would do anything to speed up time. He was sure she was having a similar emotional crisis, but she, at least, had the extra added distraction of having to deal with a young boy. At the moment, he was grateful to not have that responsibility, but truthfully, that too, was one of the things he was anxiously anticipating.
He carefully draped his coat over one arm, opened the door, and left the cabin. Once out on deck, he closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm his sudden nervousness. He knew, logically, that everything should go smoothly, but he couldn't help but to worry. "What if I have the date wrong? What if at the last minute Elizabeth changes her mind and isn't there? What if there is some sort of ritual required like the one we all participated in to release Calypso? Can I readjust to a normal life? And what of William? He doesn't know me and I don't know him. Does he resent me for what I've done?" No one would have ever described Will Turner as a worrier, but tonight he seemed to be making up for it in spades. "Soon," he thought, "I'll have my answers before much longer."
A sudden boom of thunder and corresponding crack of lightning brought Will back to his senses. He looked up at the sky and noticed that, although the sounds of an impending storm were gaining momentum, the sky itself still looked exactly as it had earlier—the thick, black clouds covering the sky with the exception of an expanse around the moon. But still no sign of rain, though it was too dark to determine if there were clearer skies ahead. Will shook his head at the strange weather. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen his fair share of odd occurrences here, but this one was new. If Elizabeth's mother was correct, it wouldn't start raining until either just before or just after he crossed over. The whole idea still seemed peculiar to him, but she had been quite convinced. Who was he to argue with her?
Will turned and walked over to the railings and the long boat still lashed into place. Soon it would be readied for his return to land, but for now, it would suffice as nothing more than a place to store his coat with its hidden treasures while he waited out the last few hours. He stood there quietly for a moment, looking out at the dark water, trying to collect his thoughts as to what else he must do before he left. He and Bootstrap had long since discussed the transfer in command - multiple times, down to the very last excruciating detail. All that was left for him would be to bid his father farewell, but this time he would at least know where he was and what he was doing. Will felt no particular attachment to any of the other crew members, so he felt no obligation to talk to any of them before he was to leave—nor did he have any desire to do so. Anything he had of value, either sentimental, monetary, or otherwise, had already been taken care of and stowed aboard the long boat. All that was left was this infernal waiting.
He sighed and turned toward the bow of the ship and his usual haunt on the forecastle. He supposed it was as good a place as any to pass the few remaining hours. At least no one would bother him there. Crossing the deserted deck, climbing the steps up to his destination, and striding over to the railing, he put both elbows on the rails and rested his chin in his hands, while he just stared out at the open sea as he had so many times before. This time, the view lacked the coruscating reflection of starlight on the waves. That was something he missed. There was nothing to see but darkness and the orangish reflection of the moon on the black water. The only sound he heard other than the waves lapping against the sides of the ship was the ship's bells. Out of longstanding habit, Will counted the strikes: one, two, three, four, five, six, and then silence. Six bells—that meant it was three a.m. Sunrise should be just before six this time of year.
Will continued scanning the horizon in a futile attempt to discern any signs of land in the dark. The increasingly unending sheets of lightning made it possible to see for a second or two at a time, but all he could make out was an endless stretch of water. He had completely lost track of time and had no idea how long he had been standing there, when he heard the partially familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs of someone wearing boots—but someone who was not Bootstrap. Will turned his head towards the sound to see who had invaded his privacy. The tall, lean and uncharacteristically scruffy looking man nodded to Will, but did not speak as he walked towards him. Will returned his gaze to the water. Even after all these years Will still felt a twinge of self consciousness when he was around causing Will to become automatically, but unnecessarily, defensive. He knew he owed this man his gratitude for his role in the path Will's and Elizabeth's lives had taken, but at the same time he also was owed some of the blame for the unfortunate and tragic detour that was finally about to come to an end.
The sailor moved with the grace and agility owed to a lifetime as an officer of the Royal Navy – an officer who was more accustomed to giving orders than to taking them. His normally well kept beard – one grown in contumacy to his military training, was in need of a trim. His longish brown locks - habitually constrained in a neat queue, were left to tangle in the wind. And yet, in spite of it all he still managed to wear the clothing of a common sailor in such a way that he still projected that same air of authority he always had- but now with a much less rigid tone.
James made his way to a spot on Will's left, turned away from the water, leaned back against the railing and propped himself up on his elbows. He turned to look at the ship's soon to be former captain as if trying to gage his mood, but in truth he understood full well what his mood must be, for Will Turner, even as a young boy, had worn his heart on his sleeve.
"Mr. Norrington," Will said emotionlessly as he sensed the man looking at him, and yet he didn't bother to turn towards his uninvited guest.
"Captain Turner," James Norrington replied with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He immediately regretted his tone as he noticed his captain tense up ever so slightly. Neither man would ever forget that James had died aboard this very ship at the hands of Will's father – not to mention the fact that he had lost the only woman he had ever believed he could truly love to him too. And yet, he served on his crew now of his own volition. Was it possible that Will didn't quite understand that?
James was nothing more than a simple sailor now – by his own choice and completely at peace with that decision. None of the crew, save Will and possibly - probably Bootstrap, knew or even suspected, that he had ever been anything else. He had long since shed all of the uniforms, rules, regulations and other accoutrements that might possibly identified him as a member of the Royal Navy, much less an Admiral – a title that he has always aspired to and deserved, but had not truly earned by his own reckoning.
"Was there something you needed?" Will asked, still trying to sound totally disinterested in what Norrington might have to say to him.
James remained quiet for several minutes as he alternately watched Will and the cloud covered, lightning streaked sky. He finally drew a deep breath and sighed before he began to speak.
"She'll be there."
Will turned his head to look at James who was now staring up at the sky again. His eyes narrowed slightly and his brow creased as he noticed James unkempt appearance and tried to make sense of why, after years of avoiding each other, James would invade his privacy to tell him something he already knew.
"She wouldn't have waited for me," James added.
Will still did not reply.
"Had I not released her from our engagement and I was the one who had stabbed the heart, she wouldn't have waited."
"She would have," Will answered, knowing full well that James was most likely right, but having no clue how to tell him that – or even if he should.
"No, she would have returned to you as soon as was considered seemly. She loves you. She's always loved you. I always knew that and yet I was arrogant enough to believe that I could make her love me, She would have been miserable. We both would have been miserable."
"How so?" Will paused for a moment. "If it's not too bold of me to ask?"
"Too bold? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage there."
"By allowing my curiosity to make me forget my place."
"Your place?" James exhaled sharply through his nose. "Your place is with Elizabeth, wherever that may be."
"Even if I am still the blacksmith who stole the affections of the Governor's daughter from you?" Will responded with just a touch of hurt in his voice.
"Oh, you can't be serious!" James said, belatedly realizing that Will was, indeed, serious. "I couldn't have seen it at the time, perhaps none of us could, but it was what was best for me too. The Elizabeth I thought I loved was just an illusion. I've been able to see that for longer than you know. She played the part of a proper young lady for her father's benefit. She would have married me to please him and then perhaps played the same role to try to please me, but it would have cost her dearly in the end. My own inability to see both sides of a situation would have crushed her sense of independence. You…," James stopped to gather his thoughts. "You always saw who she really was inside. With you she can be just Elizabeth or a wife, a mother, the King of the Brethren Court – it doesn't matter. You are who she both wanted and needed."
Will looked down at the glossy black waves lapping at the side of the ship and swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said softly.
"For what? For bowing out gracefully when I had the chance? For trying to avoid a scandal for myself? No, I don't deserve your gratitude – not after everything else that transpired."
"Now you have me at a loss." Will wrinkled his brow in confusion as he looked back at James and tried to decipher what he could possibly mean.
"The heart. Had I known what Beckett wanted it for, had I not wanted my old life back, had I not still been jealous of you….I would never have taken it."
Now Will truly was perplexed. "Jealous? Of me? Because of Elizabeth? But you just said…"
James cut him off with a dramatic sigh "Turner! Were you not paying attention?" The twinkle in James' eyes betrayed his amusement at Will's confusion. "No, because you're a good man, because of all the obstacles that have forever been in your way and yet you overcame them, for having the strength to stand up for what is right even if it goes against authority, and because of this," he said gesturing expansively at the ship. "I can't think of another man who could have returned the Dutchman to its intended purpose and yet be willing to give up all that you have."
"I didn't have a choice." Will's voice was flat with shock at James' revelations.
"You did – everyone does. You simply didn't allow any potential inconveniences or difficulties influence your decision. I must admit it has been an honor for me to serve on your crew."
Will stared at James in shocked silence for a moment before again muttering, "thank you."
"You most certainly don't owe me any thanks. Forgiveness, perhaps, but not thanks."
"I've never blamed you for any of it. I accepted everything as my destiny and the price I had to pay to be with Elizabeth. But," Will smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, your apology is accepted."
"Then to quote Sparrow 'we're square?'" James turned to lean on the rail and watch the water.
"I should thank you for saving her life."
James rolled his eyes at Will and again sighed in exasperation. "I only did it because of what she meant to me – as a friend and of what she meant to you. She was right to tell me I had to choose a side. It was just unfortunate that I understood too late to do much of anything about it.
"I know. You always have and always will mean a lot to her, to us both I suppose." Will agreed as he turned back to the water suddenly struck be the realization that they had both, in a sense, died for the same woman.
"I would have willingly taken over the ship for you had Bootstrap not offered."
Will looked at James quizzically. This was probably the last thing he would ever have expected him to say. "You're certainly more suited for the job of running the ship than I ever was."
"I would have done it for Elizabeth," James amended. "And you haven't done half bad, Turner, not half bad."
Will looked back towards James and gave him a faint smile. "For Elizabeth?" he echoed.
"So she could have you back."
"I'll make sure I let her know of your offer."
"No." James said sharply. "Please don't tell her I'm here," he pleaded.
"Why not? She would want to know that you're well."
"Am I? As far as she's concerned I'm dead and gone. You are going back. I don't want her to feel responsible for me ending up an ordinary sailor on a ghost ship under the command of the man who killed me," the sharp edge to his voice had returned.
Will winced at both the explanation and the implied accusation. "Why did you join the crew?" Will asked, truly curious.
"To keep an eye on you. To make sure you would be able to go back. To make sure you didn't do anything rash," James answered with a laugh although truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure himself.
"For Elizabeth?" Will laughed too.
"For Elizabeth," James agreed. "And for the boy. And because you have another chance at what I will never have."
Will looked back up towards the sky in a vain attempt to cover his shock. How did James know of his son? He never mentioned him to anyone save Bootstrap. As he looked he noticed a distinct lightening to the east. It was time.
"You deserved that chance too."
James waved his hand in a clear dismissal of what Will had said. "Serving aboard this ship gave me the chance to regain some of what I had lost or missed. As for the rest of it? It's too late for that now. Besides, Captain Turner, I do believe it is time for you to prepare yourself to go ashore," James announced as he offered Will his hand. "Take care of them."
Will accepted the handshake. "I gave you my word on that long ago."
"So you did – just make sure your word extends to your son too."
"It does," Will confirmed still taken aback by the seriousness of James' tone.
"If the boy is anything like his parents you have a far more difficult task awaiting you."
Will smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"Now go!" James ordered.
"I do believe I'm still in command here?" Will raised an eyebrow as he asked.
James shrugged. "Old habits and such," he said with another wave of his hand.
Will left James staring out at the water as he made his way down the steps to the midsection of the ship and climbed the rat lines. He stared towards the direction of the soon to be rising sun and began counting down the minutes – minutes that would seem the longest of his life.